


The Wheels of Fate

by TheWanderingAvarian



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dubious Morality, Found Family, Gen, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Roleswap, Sakura Sojiro Adopts Persona 5 Protagonist, Tragedy, Violence, discussion of suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 61,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28577730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWanderingAvarian/pseuds/TheWanderingAvarian
Summary: It's the middle of spring in the year 2016. Akira Kurusu is a normal high-school student, living a normal high-school life. Sort of. Yes, he has magical powers he can use to destroy peoples' souls—no, he doesn't think that's a problem. And it isn't. Or at least itwasn't.Not until now.***An AU in which Akira's the one who gets his powers first.
Relationships: Amamiya Ren & Isshiki Wakaba, Amamiya Ren & Kitagawa Yusuke, Amamiya Ren & Sakura Futaba, Amamiya Ren & Yaldabaoth (Persona Series), Isshiki Wakaba & Kurusu Akira, Kitagawa Yusuke & Kurusu Akira, Kurusu Akira & Sakura Futaba, Kurusu Akira & Yaldabaoth
Comments: 151
Kudos: 198





	1. An Ominous Start

**Saturday 16th April 2016**

“We’re almost done for the day,” said Wakaba, glancing over his shoulder at the spreadsheet he was organising for her. “Hey, nice work! You’re not as quick as me, but with a bit of time you’ll be an excellent little data-analyst!”

She ruffled his hair affectionately and he half-heartedly tried to bat her away. “Hey, I know you only brought me here because your assistant is off sick.”

“Well, yes,” said Wakaba, pursing her lips. “But it’s like Sojiro said—if you want to stick around here longer than your probation allows, you’ve got to earn it, kiddo.” 

Akira rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure he was talking about me getting a job and paying him rent, not helping you out with your research projects.”

She smirked at him. “Work experience is work experience—it’ll come in useful eventually regardless. Now come on, we don’t have much longer in here before one of the bigwigs comes in and tells us to buzz off.”

“Alright, alright,” sighed Akira, making sure the document was all saved, then logging off. “Are we at least going out for dinner?”

“Tch, don’t be so pushy,” said Wakaba, packing her own things away. She looked up, glancing briefly at the door. A flicker of sombre sadness passed over her face. That was the fourth time today. Something was wrong. “Just give me a moment, I need to check on something before we leave.”

She zipped up her bag, then headed over to the door, closing it softly behind her. 

Ugh, this was hell. Literally surrounded by research on cognitive pscience—the _one_ thing that might let him understand the Metaverse better—and he couldn’t touch any of it. Wakaba was already suspicious enough of him. He couldn’t risk her realising he was interested in her research too. For now he was just their troublesome lodger, finally released from a year of probation and refusing to return home because of his neglectful parents. And it wasn’t like it was a lie. Not really. But he couldn’t afford to have her realise now. Not after everything he’d done. 

He shivered slightly. It was cold in the lab, even though it was the middle of spring. Damn all this equipment needing to be stored at low temperatures. Even his jacket didn’t do much good. And he couldn’t even scroll through his phone thanks to the data interference in here. He found his gaze settling on Wakaba’s bag again. Nope. Too risky. But maybe... No. He couldn’t think about it.

Hmm... She’d been gone for a while now—maybe he should check just to make sure—

The door clicked open. 

Wakaba smiled at him as she walked in. 

“All ready to go?”

“Yep,” he said, smiling at her. The sooner he could escape from this hell-scape of temptation the better. “All set.”

“Great,” she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder, “let’s go.”

He walked with her out of the door, into the smaller room that was her office. No one else was left around. Wow, maybe it was later than he thought. He got his phone out to check as she locked the door behind him—there was no internet scramble in here, thank goodness. Seven-thirty. Huh, he actually _had_ lost track of time in there. An unfortunate habit of his. He looked up from his phone, only to see Wakaba locking the other door _out_ of her office as well. 

A more easy-going person might have assumed she was just forgetful. But Akira was not nearly so easy-going as he pretended to be. And he knew a trap when he saw one. Still. Best not to tip his hand too early. 

“Hey, aren’t we going?” he asked, sliding his phone into his pocket, leaving it unlocked, just in case. “Or are you just double-checking the locks?”

Wakaba sighed, slipping the key into her pocket, turning to face him with the sad smile she’d been trying to hide all day. “‘Fraid not, kiddo.”

Silence hung heavy in the air. Neither of them wanted to make the first move. Akira could hear his heartbeat in his chest. 

“You know it’s pretty impressive,” said Wakaba, her gaze not leaving his face even for a second, “a kid your age managing to keep everything under wraps for so long. You’re lucky no one noticed sooner. Very lucky.”

There was a slightly hard edge to her eyes now. But he couldn’t afford to be the one to say it. 

“Lucky about what?” he asked, projecting the air of casual ignorance he’d perfected over the course of nearly two years. “I’m...not really sure what you’re talking about, to be honest.”

Wakaba grinned. “Ah, you’re a good actor Akira. It always surprises me whenever you show it—you’ve got some real talent. So you want _me_ to say it, huh? I guess I understand.” Her expression turned hard again. “Well, let me lay it out for you then. I know what you’ve been doing over the course of the last two years. I know you know about the cognitive world. I know you’ve somehow managed to find a way inside. I know that, since you were fourteen, you’ve been using it to induce comas, death and complete changes of personality in all sorts of criminals all across Japan. I know what you _are,_ Akira. I know about _everything.”_

His heart was beating so fast he almost couldn’t hear himself think. So he’d been right about his suspicions. Goddammit. But there was still something missing—something crucial.

“Okay,” he said, and he was surprised by the steadiness of his own voice, “so what happens now? You could have called the police on me ages ago. It would be easy to incriminate me, with my record.”

Wakaba smiled. “Sharp as ever, Akira. I have no desire to turn you in to the police, as I’m sure you’ve worked out by now.” 

Yeah. That had been certain pretty much as soon as she’d locked the door. 

“What _do_ you want?” he asked. If he could just compromise with her...but she _did_ have a Palace... Was there really no way out?

“What I want is very simple,” she said, leaning casually against the door. “In exchange for you being able to go on living your life unimpeded, I want you to do me an immense favour.” 

She wasn’t kidding—that much was obvious just by the look on her face. She took a deep breath. 

“I want you to destroy Masayoshi Shido.”

Shido...? But who? Nevermind—he wasn’t some supernatural hitman out for hire. He couldn’t do this.

“Oh, don’t make that face,” sighed Wakaba, staring at him. “I know you’ve killed before, Akira.”

“Who is he?” asked Akira, his fingers hovering over the phone in his pocket. 

Wakaba gave another wan smile. “I’m surprised someone as knowledgeable as you hasn’t heard of him before. Technically, he’s the owner of this place.” She spread her arms to indicate her lab. “He’s the one who commissioned my research.”

“You...want me to kill your boss?”

“Hold your tongue, Akira, I wasn’t finished,” she said, glaring at him sharply. “Being my boss is the least of Shido’s crimes. He is a politician—a politician who has been very rapidly ascending the ranks of the political elite, these last few years.”

“Through...less than honest means?” asked Akira. Certainly Wakaba’s research had menacing potential in the hands of the government, but... 

“Precisely,” said Wakaba. “He also has a penchant for attractive young women. Attractive young women who tend to mysteriously disappear once he gets bored of them.”

Akira felt a familiar hatred rolling in his stomach. Just like that asshole who’d gotten him sent here in the first place...

“Did he...?” he asked uncertainly.

“No,” said Wakaba. “Thankfully I’m a little too important to him for anything like that. That’s not to say his conduct is stellar at all times mind you—don’t fool yourself into thinking I don’t have to put up with the same bullshit all of us do.”

“So he’s a sexual harasser too,” said Akira.

“He’s a rapist, to be slightly more accurate,” said Wakaba, smiling grimly. Ah, she was always so delightfully blunt about things. “And though that’s a crime in itself I confess my primary concern is more personal. I did not choose to work for him, you see. 

“Several years ago now, he approached me about funding my research. I, sensing the kind of degenerate he was, refused him point-blank.” A deep frown creased her face. “Unfortunately, that was not the end of it. A couple of weeks later, I got into a minor car accident—Futaba was in the car with me—and when my car was examined in the aftermath, it was found to have been tampered with. You’ll never guess what arrived in the post the next day.” 

Akira sighed. “A threatening letter?”

“Exactly that. I was forced to agree to let him have my research, or he’d target not only me, but Futaba and Sojiro as well. I couldn’t abide that—so agreed to his terms, all the while thinking that if I could only complete this damned research I could probably use it to get back at him as he deserved. But he was watching too carefully. Probably guessed what I had in mind. So all I could do was stall. But I can’t stall for much longer, Akira... I just can’t.”

“I see,” mumbled Akira. And he did. He’d always noticed a certain strained quality to Wakaba’s voice whenever she spoke of her work. He’d always assumed it was stress—or an ominous hint that she was onto him—but now... “He’s caused you a lot of pain, hasn’t he?”

“Immeasurable,” said Wakaba. She was still smiling, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “There have been days I thought I couldn’t go on. The things he plans to do with my research, Akira...the most dreadful things. It cannot happen. But it will, if no one stops him.”

“So you’re asking me to get rid of him.”

She smiled, more genuinely now, and straightened up, facing him directly. “I am. When I realised you were the one causing all this disruption—at first I confess I was disgusted. I thought you might be like him—only doing it to achieve your own ends. But as I observed you interacting with Futaba and Sojiro—looked more closely into your friends in Tokyo, I realised you had more altruistic aims. After all, sometimes there’s no other way out, am I correct?”

He felt himself breathe for what might have been the first time since she locked the door. “That’s right.”

The frown on Wakaba’s face lightened slightly, and her shoulders relaxed as she took another step closer.

“So I ask you again, Akira—will you help me destroy Masayoshi Shido?” Her lips pursed together slightly. “You have to understand—this might be the last chance I have to...”

He stepped towards her, catching her by the elbow and smiling—for once without any fake pretence whatsoever. 

“I will,” he said. “I could never leave a friend in need.”

Wakaba chuckled like she almost couldn’t believe her ears. “You...agree?”

“I do.”

“Thank you,” she said grasping his arm, the desperation finally beginning to fracture through her confident facade. “Thank you.”

“It’ll be okay,” he said, helping her straighten up. 

“I know,” she said, straightening her glasses, and wiping away the tears that were threatening to fall down her cheeks. “It’s just such a relief that... Thank you, Akira. I don’t know what I would have done if you’d refused.”

“I wouldn’t refuse,” he said. “Getting rid of people like him is practically my job, you know.”

She gave a slightly wild laugh. “Listen to you, so righteous. You should be on one of those TV shows.”

“Now that _would_ be ridiculous.”

She laughed, and he couldn’t help but laugh with her, as she unlocked the door and they stumbled out. 

“So,” she said, becoming a little more sober. “We have a deal, then?” 

“We do,” said Akira. 

“Then let’s shake on it,” she said, holding out her thin, pale hand. “Make it official, and everything.”

“Of course,” said Akira, taking it and giving it a firm shake. “There. Now we’re partners in crime.”

Wakaba shook her head, but she couldn’t hide the smile on her face. “Partners in crime, huh? What would your parents say?”

“Nothing much,” he said, which was perfectly accurate. 

Besides, they already thought he was a criminal anyway. 

“So...” he said, as they exited the building. “Still no takeout?”

She shoved him in the back of the head, and he knew she was rolling her eyes behind him. “Alright. Just this once though.”

“To celebrate our partnership!” he insisted.

“To celebrate our partnership.”

* * *

“So,” said Futaba, slurping her noodles, “how’d you convince Mom this time?”

“My natural charisma and charm, obviously,” said Akira, putting his own bowl down.

“Bullshit!” Futaba spluttered through mouthfuls. 

“Don’t speak with your mouth full!” called Wakaba from where she was sitting with Sojiro on the other side of the room. 

“Ugh,” Futaba rolled her eyes, finally managing to swallow. “Fine, keep your secrets, mystery man.”

“That’s my favourite hobby.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. 

“You sure she’s turning fifteen this year and not twelve?” asked Sojiro—not particularly quietly.

“I can hear you!”

“Just as well!” he chuckled. 

“It’s fine,” said Wakaba, gesturing with her chopsticks, “I’ve no doubt that high school will bestow her with a bit more maturity.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s been working so well so far,” snorted Akira.

“This is discrimination!” protested Futaba.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough, you two,” chuckled Sojiro, getting up from his seat and collecting their empty bowls. “Settle down now.”

“Totally not fair,” fumed Futaba. 

“So, how’s it been?” asked Sojiro, as he sat back down next to Wakaba. “Enjoyed your stint as Wakaba’s research assistant?”

“I can’t believe you took him for the whole day, Mom!” whined Futaba. “I wanted to finish the final level of Mortal 2!” 

“You still have time to do that,” Wakaba insisted, glancing at the clock. “Well, if you start now, anyway.”

“Yes!” cried Futaba, pumping her fist and all but dragging him from his seat. “Come on, Akira, let’s go!”

“D-don’t let him dodge the question!” stuttered Sojiro. 

“I’ll tell you all about it, Sojiro, let the kids have their fun,” said Wakaba soothingly as Futaba pulled him from the room.

Akira let himself be dragged all the way up to the top of the stairs and into Futaba’s room for their final stint at Mortal 2. Futaba quickly booted up the game and pushed the controller into his hands.

“I’m surprised you’re enjoying it so much,” he said, sitting down next to her. “And to think you said this game was for filthy casuals.”

“It is,” she said, as they logged into the menu screen, “but seeing as you’ll never be anything _but_ a filthy casual, I suppose I had to compromise.”

He chuckled, and the level began to load in. Mortal 2 really wasn’t a particularly difficult game—which meant it was easy enough to chat at the same time—something Futaba took full advantage of.

“So, who’s that skinny guy you’ve been hanging around with lately, huh? Your new best friend? Your new greatest pal?”

Her voice was filled to the brim with derision. He’d been sensing this particular conversation coming on practically all week.

“You’ll always be my _best_ friend, Futaba,” said Akira, in an attempt to placate her.

“Humph! Says the boy who didn’t talk to me at school all yesterday.”

“I was busy.”

“Busy hanging out with your boyfriend?”

Akira clicked his tongue exasperatedly. “It’s not like that.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“If you say so,” said Futaba skeptically. 

“Listen, just because I can’t spend every hour of the day with you—”

“But you said we could hang out at school once I started going to Kosei, and since then you’ve hardly been doing it at all!” 

Akira glanced at Futaba out of the corner of his eye. She’d gone quite red in the face, holding her controller very tightly. It could be because of the stress of the game, but somehow Akira doubted it.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I made a promise and I know I didn’t keep it.”

“Damn right,” she muttered. 

“It’s just been...kind of crazy with the new term and everything. I promise we can hang out more soon.”

“You promised last time...” she grumbled.

“Ah, but this time it’s a super promise,” said Akira, just about managing to get to the end of the level in time. “Which means that you can...uh...”

“Which means that if you break it, you can get me a new printer cartridge,” said Futaba, matter-of-factly. 

“Ugggghh,” groaned Akira. “Futaba, I’m poor enough as it is having to pay Sojiro rent now.”

“Better not break your promise then.”

Well, that was certainly motivation if nothing else. But there was a reason he hadn’t had much time to see Futaba, and it definitely wasn’t just getting used to the new timetable. _That_ was something he needed to look into too... Tomorrow was a Sunday. He’d have time in the afternoon. 

“Nice!” cried Futaba, as the end-game credits began to roll. “We finally made it!”

“I’d call that a job well done,” said Akira, offering his hand for a high-five. 

Futaba reached over and clapped it vigorously. 

“I guess you’re forgiven,” she said, finally looking at him directly. “For now.”

“That’s all I can ask for,” said Akira, smiling. 

There was a kerfuffle from downstairs.

“Ugh, I think Mom’s calling us,” said Futaba, glancing at the door. “Time for you to head home.”

“Yep,” said Akira, straightening up. “See you tomorrow, trouble-maker.”

“You’d better believe it, pretty boy!”

* * *

Ah, eleven o’clock. One hour before midnight. His least favourite time of night. 

_Well then, maybe you should go to sleep,_ suggested Arsène, very unhelpfully. 

“If that was an option, I would have done it,” said Akira. But it wasn’t an option. Not tonight, anyway.

He’d been sensing it since that afternoon; an odd weight pressing down on him, a strange presence heavy in the air. He knew that presence. And it never meant anything good. 

He’d only have to wait here a bit longer for it to fully materialise. And then…then they’d talk. 

He was sitting on the chair next to his desk, but facing towards the centre of the room, towards the empty middle where the… _thing_ always appeared. Not long now…

 _Are you sure it’s smart to talk to it?_ asked Arsène.

“I don’t have any choice,” sighed Akira. Not anymore, anyway.

 _Be careful,_ his old friend murmured. _It doesn’t have your best interests at heart._

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know,” muttered Akira. 

Almost as if the being had heard his words, a presence began to manifest in the centre of his room. A kind of strange blue light, shimmering and flickering—one moment there, gone the next. A shift in the very fabric of the world.

 _So,_ it announced, in a deep, echoing voice only he could hear, _you’ve made a most interesting deal._

“Hardly any of your concern,” said Akira. 

_We disagree. It has given you great potential. Perhaps greater than ever before._

Akira narrowed his eyes.

“I’m not letting you out. I’ve told you before.”

_You might end up doing so unintentionally, boy. We eagerly await that day._

“None of the doors in Mementos have opened since I got here, and as long as I keep doing what I am, none of them will. You said it yourself.”

The being seemed to contract slightly in the air, the blue getting bluer—as though it was angered by his words. 

_No matter. Greater plans are at work—plans you have yet to even realise. We will have our freedom. No matter your resistance, you cannot conquer the very force of gravity itself. The entropy of the universe will free us, and the precious humans you sacrifice so much for will be the ones to deliver us our victory. It is as they wish it. Why do you fight so hard?_

“You and I see the world a little differently,” said Akira, cooly. “And I believe you have no such power. If you had you would have used it before.” 

_Is that so?_ The light grew fainter again, the being curling in on itself. _Well, I suppose we will see in the coming days._

“I won’t let you out,” said Akira, flatly. “It doesn’t matter what kind of scare tactics you try to use. Your plan for humanity is barbaric and I stand by that belief.”

 _Ah,_ said the creature, now projecting an altogether more menacing quiet, _but what you think no longer matters, little one. _

“I’m the only who can free you,” said Akira, though for the first time since he met the creature, he felt doubtful. “That’s just how it is.”

 _No,_ said the creature. _Not anymore._

And before Akira could say another word, it vanished from the room.

Akira breathed out. It felt somehow much harder than usual.

“What does that mean?” he muttered.

 _It can only really mean one thing,_ said Arsène, now hovering ghost-like next to him. _Someone else has finally discovered the Metaverse._

“Could it be to do with Wakaba?”

_I doubt it. She would not have been so desperate for your assistance had she known of another who could enter the Metaverse. Or if she knew how to get in herself, for that matter._

“So some stranger...” 

Did they know of the creature lurking in the depths of Mementos? Had it approached them like it had approached him, not long after he entered Tokyo, with insidious promises of a world without free will? Perhaps not yet, but soon... And would they sense the danger? What if they actually _wanted_ such a world? 

_We must find this person,_ said Arsène. _The sooner the better._

“I don’t disagree,” said Akira. “But even in the Metaverse, Tokyo’s not a small place. It could take forever to find them.”

_Not if they are as promising as that creature seems to think._

“True...” His activities in the Metaverse drew attention from Shadows, after all. And if this person was at all competent then they would too. “Let’s add that to the investigation list.”

 _That’s a lot to get done in one Sunday, Akira,_ said Arsène. _You’ll have to tell them you’re working a double-shift._

“Well, there’s no rest for the wicked,” said Akira, getting into bed. 

_There’s certainly no rest for you,_ muttered Arsène.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wakaba: Hey Akira, can you deal with my shitty boss?  
> Akira: Hold your horses, I'm not some mercenary—  
> Wakaba: He's a sexual-harasser.  
> Akira: Understandable, I'll get right on it.
> 
> Well, welcome to this new idea which is currently occupying all my brainspace! This chapter did a lot of heavy-lifting with regards to introducing the state of the world, but just to clarify everything that's going on: Akira got his powers two years ago at pretty much the same time Akechi was implied to get them in canon. A year after getting them, he runs into the situation with Shido a year early, knocks him over and subsequently gets shipped off to Tokyo, where he spent a year living with Sojiro, at the end of which he refuses to return for...various reasons. As such he's still sticking around in the Leblanc for the foreseeable future. Albeit, now forced to pay rent, because Sojiro's still Sojiro (and he really doesn't earn a whole lot of money off that cafe). I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter—I'm really looking forward to developing this world!


	2. Immediate Disruption

**Sunday 17th April**

Akira had decided that the first act of his free Sunday afternoon would be to investigate Shido’s Palace. His thinking had been that he could explore around and get a feel for the layout enough to report some progress to Wakaba, then start out on his mission to find the other Metaverse user. Finally, when he got back to the real world, he could test out his suspicions about Madarame and make sure he wasn’t the problem Yusuke was so keen to avoid talking about. 

It was a solid plan. A good plan, even. However, like all his plans, it didn’t take long to completely and utterly fall apart. In fact, it took approximately an hour. 

He’d managed to get into Shido’s Palace just fine—after a bit of agony trying to work out what the distortion was. (A cruise ship should have come up sooner, but he was already mentally exhausted from spending the morning shopping with Futaba.) And indeed, most of the infiltration was going well. He was keeping to his normal methods, creeping around and just generally trying to avoid the notice of the Shadows waiting around every corner. He’d worked out he’d need some special letters to get in, and in fact was just planning to leave the Palace, when he was finally caught by one of the more watchful Shadows. 

Normally that wouldn’t be a problem. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d done this before. He had all the healing items and spells he’d ever need to get out of pretty much any encounter just fine. And even if he didn’t come out of it fine, he’d already had a bad enough time in the Metaverse to know that death wasn’t really anything to worry about in there. 

So, when a menacing-looking Cerberus gashed him along the forearm, he summarily blasted it with ice and quickly went to heal his injury with Diarama. 

Or at least, that’s what he _tried_ to do. 

He was definitely using the magic. He could feel the energy draining out of him. But the cut...wasn’t healing. In fact it was beginning to bleeding quite alarmingly. It also hurt. A lot.

_Get out of there,_ commanded Parvati, and he had no problem doing exactly what she said.

He was around the corner in a second, trying very hard not to panic at the sight of his still very distinctly bleeding arm. This didn’t happen to him. Had literally never happened to him in the two years he’d spent in the Metaverse. 

_Well it’s happening now,_ said Arsène, resuming his position in the driving seat automatically. _Get out of the Metaverse, there’s nothing we can do here._

_Are you sure?_ thought Akira, applying as much pressure as he could to the wound with his free hand. 

_Very, now get on it._

Well, that seemed to be that. With a snap of his fingers, the ship stuttered and deformed itself around him, and seconds later he was standing on a street corner, still grasping his very injured arm. 

_Get out your phone, look up the nearest emergency clinic—quickly._

He did as he was told, trying to fish his phone out of his pocket with his injured right arm, still clutching his wound tightly. He opened up the map, typed in the information. Only ten minutes walk away. 

_Ten minutes is too long with you bleeding like that. Run._

And he did—he sprinted, catching the disapproving eye of almost everyone who walked by—but he didn’t have time to worry about that. His fingers were growing slick with blood where they were holding onto his wound, and he was already beginning to feel lightheaded. 

_Not too far away now._

Arsène was right—just another corner and...finally. They were there. He rushed into the emergency clinic and came skidding to a stop in front of the receptionist.

“Hello, what’s your—” The receptionist cut herself off as she caught sight of the state of his arm, covering her mouth in shock. “I’ll, um, I’ll call the doctor right away!” she said, reaching for the phone. “Just go and take a seat over there—keep holding onto it.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He went over and slumped into the seat, closing his eyes as an odd buzzing sound began in his ears.

_I’ll try to talk as long as you can hear me. Try not to pass out, Akira._

_Don’t worry about me,_ Akira thought back. _We’ve had worse._

_We haven’t,_ Arsène insisted. _Not like this. Not outside the Metaverse._

_More importantly,_ thought Akira, ignoring his Persona’s agitation, _what are we going to do about Shido’s Palace now? He seems to have some...anti-healing effect in there. We can’t go about this like normal._

_No,_ Arsène murmured hesitantly. _Our first step should be to tell Wakaba. She needs to know._

_She might know something about this,_ mused Akira. _Shido is commissioning her to research the Metaverse, after all. If she’s aware of Palaces and told him about it, he might have developed that as a mental block._

_If it is a mental block, it will be incredibly hard to get around. _

_We might have no choice but to brute force it._

_Akira, you could die._

_What’s life without death?_

_Don’t be glib._

Arsène was right to be worried, Akira could feel himself growing fainter and fainter, and he was still bleeding... His arm felt oddly numb...

“Hey, can you hear me?” 

A man’s voice—quiet. Akira just about managed to crack an eye open. God, it was hard work. 

He was a young man, dark hair—and wearing a distinctive doctor’s coat. 

“Can you walk?” the doctor asked. 

Akira forced both eyes open and attempted to stand, still clutching his arm tightly. His knees fell out from under him almost immediately. Traitorous things. 

“Nurse, can I get a wheelchair over here?” the doctor called to someone he couldn’t see. “It’s going to be alright,” he said, turning back to Akira. “We’ll fix that up for you—have you been able to do any first aid? Washed it and such?”

Akira shook his head. That was a mistake. The whole world began spinning on edge. 

“Okay,” murmured the doctor, and he went on to say something else, but Akira couldn’t hear him. 

Everything seemed to be getting fainter and fainter. 

And then...

Then...

* * *

“Hey, he’s waking up!” 

Akira blinked his eyes open. He felt dreadful. He was on some sort of hospital ward, that much was obvious, sterilised white practically everywhere. Sojiro, Futaba and Wakaba were all staring at him. Shit. 

“Hey,” he murmured, trying to push himself upright. Ah, they’d bandaged his arm. How nice of them. 

“Don’t get up so fast, idiot,” grumbled Sojiro, shaking his head. “Honestly, I let you out for one weekend and you almost get your arm sliced off?”

“What did you _do,_ Akira?” demanded Futaba, obviously peeved. “You’re not allowed to go to hospital the day before school!”

“Don’t remember,” said Akira, with his best attempt at sounding blurry. And in fairness he still _felt_ pretty blurry, so he imagined it was convincing. 

“Numbskull,” muttered Futaba. 

“The doctor said you should be fine to go once you regained consciousness,” said Wakaba. “They’ll probably come over and do some cognitive tests to make sure you didn’t sustain any brain damage, but fortunately you managed to avoid losing too much blood. They think you just passed out from the shock of it all.”

How humiliating.  
  
“Right,” he muttered. 

“Honestly, what a troublesome kid,” said Sojiro, pushing his glasses up his nose. “And don’t think that means you can get out of paying rent this week.”

“Ugh, you’re merciless,” muttered Akira, letting himself fall back onto his pillows. 

“Just trying to instill some common sense,” he said dryly.

“Ah, Akira-san, you’re awake,” said the doctor he’d seen before, spotting him. “I’m just going to fetch some tests for you, alright? If you can answer them you’re free to go with your family.”

“Thanks,” said Akira.

“Aw, you’re blushing,” said Futaba, leaning into him.

“Am not,” said Akira, trying to hide his face and failing miserably. 

“You’re not fooling anyone, kiddo,” said Wakaba, chuckling. 

Would his own parents have shown up here if they’d found out he was injured? 

_Probably best not to linger on it,_ said Arsène.

Yeah. They’d made their choice some time ago. 

“Alright, Akira-san,” said the doctor, re-appearing on the scene. “If you can just answer a few questions for me...”

The doctor quizzed him on various basic things like where he lived and what year it was, before declaring him cognitively functional and letting them all go—with instructions to change his bandages regularly until the wound healed, of course.

The car ride back to Sojiro’s house was fairly calm, but before Akira could step inside, Wakaba pulled him aside. 

“I’d just like to talk to him alone for a moment,” she said, catching Sojiro’s look of confusion.

“Pfft, good luck, kid,” he said, stepping inside. 

Wakaba walked him a short way down the street, down to the laundromat—as empty as usual. 

“Gonna teach me how to use one of these things?” quipped Akira, leaning against one of the washing machines. 

“No,” said Wakaba, as business-like as ever. “I think you know what I’m going to ask you.” 

“It was the...project you asked me to look into,” he said, keenly aware they were still technically in a public place. “It was more dangerous than I expected. I wouldn’t usually run into...problems like this in any other areas.” 

Wakaba narrowed her eyes, clearly picking her next words carefully. “Does the entire process work differently in there to how it does out here?”

Akira sighed. “It’s...almost like a video game. Anything that happens inside—if you deal with it in there it doesn’t affect you at all out here. Regardless of how bad it is.”

“I see,” murmured Wakaba. “We’ll talk more about this some other time.”

“Of course.”

“Let’s head back.”

* * *

“So,” said Wakaba—the two of them were now alone in the living room, Sojiro having been drawn into one of Futaba’s schemes, “you can’t get injured in the cognitive world?”

“It’s not that you can’t,” said Akira, rubbing his arm self-consciously, “it’s that you have...abilities in there you don’t have in this world. And things like coffee and food change their properties. If you eat something in the Metaverse it can heal you. And there’s a kind of...magic you can do, if you know how, to heal yourself.”

“I see,” said Wakaba, her brow creasing. “It makes sense. It is a world based off of thought, after all. But this is not the case with Shido?”

Akira folded his arms, leaning back in his seat. “How much do you already know about the Metaverse? You didn’t tell me when you asked me to do this.”

“Ah,” said Wakaba, cracking a smile, “I suppose not. I’ll explain myself then; I know it’s a different dimension built off human thought. I know that, with the right tools it can be manipulated from the inside—though most of my research has been concerned purely with its mechanics, and from what I can determine a large nexus of emotion has formed under Tokyo—possibly because it's such a large city. I imagine similar nexuses exist under other urban areas as well. And lastly—probably most importantly—I know that individuals showing extreme psychological abnormalities can form their own unique pocket dimensions within the cognitive world.”

“Right,” said Akira. “I call those places Palaces.”

“Palaces?” said Wakaba. “What an interesting name.”

“I don’t know why it occurred to me—just instinct, I guess.” 

“Hmm,” said Wakaba. 

She was thinking hard, but he doubted even she could guess at the true reason he’d settled on the name. A scientific type like her wasn’t likely to consider gods straight off the bat.

“So,” she said, straightening up, “these Palaces have something to do with manipulating your targets, is that correct?”

“Pretty much,” said Akira. “It’s not just mentally ill people that have them though—in fact I’d say they’re much less likely to have a Palace than most of the people I deal with.”

“I’m guessing there’s a moral element to this,” mused Wakaba. “Given the number of criminals you targeted.”

“Correct,” said Akira. “Like you said, the Metaverse is a world based on thought. The most likely people to have a Palace are those who are behaving in a socially unacceptable manner—behind closed doors or otherwise. The centre of their corruption is that their desires have gotten out of control, so for example—a chronic sexual harasser is as likely to have a Palace as a suicidal person. Both have distorted desires, but different kinds.”

“I see,” said Wakaba, leaning forward in her seat. “I confess I hadn’t interrogated the criminal dimension until now. But I suppose it makes sense that such people are more likely to be able to affect the world around them than merely the mentally ill. So Shido has a Palace?”

“Yes,” said Akira.

He couldn’t help but wonder if Wakaba realised she had one too. Probably not yet. Hopefully not ever—if he was right then doing this would finally free her of her self-imposed prison before he even had to intervene. Hopefully. 

“And this Palace—it has different properties than any you have visited before?”

Akira winced at the memory of claws cutting into his flesh. “Yeah. All Palaces are personalised to the person that generated them, but Shido’s...I’ve never known any Palace ruler to be able to negate healing in the Metaverse entirely. It’s a very unique power—one that I think stems from the knowledge he has of the Metaverse through your research.” 

Wakaba sighed, hanging her head in shame. “I see. So I’ve inadvertently made your job harder...”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Akira. “I’ll find a way around it.”

Wakaba looked up at him sharply. “Will doing that get you injured again?”

Ah. Well, that was the difficult part...

“Most likely,” he said. “But believe me, I’m used to it.”

“If you could heal yourself in there before, I very much doubt that.”

Ugh. Damn her quick-thinking ways. “Listen—I don’t have any other option. If Shido’s instituted a mental block on healing in his Palace there’s almost no way for me to knock it out of him—especially since I have no access to him personally. It’s a non-starter.”

Wakaba leant back, her face pensive. 

“He can’t be allowed to continue...” she murmured.

“I agree,” said Akira. “I will do this, Wakaba, I swear it. I wouldn’t give up on you over something so trivial.”

She chuckled, running her fingers through her hair. “You’re a sweet kid. Ah...I don’t suppose there’s any way I could assist you in the cognitive world, is there?”

Akira frowned. “Assist me?”

“I have all sorts of equipment in my lab for...practically this very thing,” Wakaba said. “If I could wire you up to the right sensors it’s possible I could track you in the cognitive world—just in case you got in trouble.”

“Hmm,” said Akira. It wasn’t a bad idea in principle. And it was certainly true that in Shido’s Palace, having someone aware of where he was and on hand to call for medical assistance if he needed it would be very helpful, but...

“Ha, still don’t trust me, huh?”

“You _did_ try to blackmail me into this,” said Akira, staring at her defiantly. “I’m happy getting Shido out of the way for you, but I’d like to keep my other activities in the Metaverse to myself, thanks. I had enough trouble with Futaba trying to hack my phone.”

“I suppose she _does_ take after her mother in that respect,” chuckled Wakaba. “Seriously though, Akira, it would be lab-test situation only—most of my equipment doesn’t even work outside that room, and you’d take the monitor on and off every time you entered the cognitive world—I wouldn’t be able to track you without it, even if I wanted to.”

“You’re sure?” asked Akira.

“Completely,” said Wakaba. 

If she was lying though...if she got desperate enough to turn him into the police—discovered her own Palace...

“I see you’re still not convinced,” sighed Wakaba. “Go in there yourself again if you want, but if you find yourself in need of assistance, I get free time in the lab every Friday. I’m there if you need me.”

“Thanks,” said Akira.

He just prayed he wouldn’t.

* * *

**Wednesday 20th April**

“You need her help,” Arsène said, the moment he stumbled into the Safe Room. 

He was right. He’d sustained no serious injuries this time, but was so battered and bruised he felt he could barely stand. The Metaverse was surprisingly exhausting with no healing ability. 

He sighed, all but collapsing into the nearby chair. “We can’t afford to have her betray us on this, Arsène. If she decides to turn on us—”

“We determine how things work in this world, Akira—or did you forget everything about your power?”

Akira stared at the ceiling, the colours dulled by his mask. 

Arsène moved closer to him, placing a clawed hand on his shoulder. “Remember, she is taking an immense risk by doing this too. And this time, if we die there’s no way out.”

Why did he always make such good points?

“These are your thoughts too,” he pointed out, bemusedly. 

Akira sighed again and sat forward. “Once we get in, can you confirm if the tracker is permanent?” 

“I can,” said Arsène. “Trust that if that is the case, I will purge it for you.”

“Thanks.” 

“Now let’s go and sleep this damage off—you don’t want them asking any more questions in gym.”

“Good point,” he said, yawning. “Ugh, so much still to do. I need to check Madarame’s name. And whoever this newbie is.”

“So far they haven’t been too much of a bother,” said Arsène, as Akira slipped back out of the Safe Room. “Perhaps they aren’t as competent as the creature thinks?” 

“Perhaps,” said Akira.

But time in the Metaverse worked differently from outside, both of them knew that. It could take weeks for significant psychological changes to occur—shutdowns were quick, but even they took days unless the person was in ill-health. Brainwashing could be painfully slow—especially for people with Palaces—Akira had known it to take up to a month until the guilt fully caught up with them and they spilt their guts about what they’d done. So possibly this person was just slow. But possibly they were being strategic. And a clever opponent was the last thing he needed right now. 

“Worry about that later. For now, we need to get out of this place.”

“Right,” he sighed.

...He was really looking forward to getting some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akira: Lmao love not being able to die in the Metaverse!  
> Shido's Palace: *exists*  
> Akira: Shit.
> 
> Welp, that's that plan made...a whole lot harder. So Shido won't be getting got for now, but as ever, Akira has enough irons in the fire that that probably won't be a problem for long. Thanks so much for reading!


	3. Testing Theories

**Friday 22nd April**

Akira tried to ignore how his already sore arm only got sorer as he stepped into the cold lab. 

“Ah,” said Wakaba, smiling at him as she looked up from her computer screen, “decided to change your mind, have you?”

“This had better not be a trap,” said Akira, carefully putting down his bag on one of the empty chairs, careful not to strain his arm as he did. 

Wakaba clicked her tongue. “So distrustful! You’re worse than Sojiro.”

“Got a lot to lose,” said Akira, giving her a half-smile. “I can’t accept anything less.”

“I understand,” said Wakaba, her expression growing serious. “Are you sure it’s wise to re-enter so soon? Your arm...”

“It’s practically half-healed already,” said Akira, which was true enough. The doctor had done a good job stitching him up. “And besides, I know to be careful now.”

Wakaba nodded, rising from her seat. “In that case, sit down while I get everything ready—this will take a moment to set-up.”

Akira did as he was told and watched with interest as Wakaba began to get out various bits of machinery and start plugging them in and wiring them up. 

“Oh, I suppose I should have asked this sooner, but now will have to do,” she said, winding the crank on a very ominous-looking machine. “When you go to the cognitive world, do you do it physically or mentally?”

“Physically,” said Akira. “I disappear from this world when I enter that one.”

“Interesting,” she huffed, dragging a heavy-looking square pad into the centre of the room. “Do you think if you died in there your body would be stuck there—or would it materialise in this world?”

“A bit dark, don’t you think?” 

“Just wondering.”

He could appreciate such questions, of course. It was one of the things he’d have wondered about before the question resolved itself. 

“My body would stay there. _If_ I died.” 

Wakaba shot him a look out of the corner of her eye. He hadn’t said it explicitly, but she was definitely smart enough to pick up on the implication. 

“You can’t afford to be that reckless this time, Akira.”

“I know,” he said. 

“Good.”

Akira took another look around the lab as Wakaba flicked various switches and tuned different dials. It wasn’t long before he spotted what he was looking for. 

“So do you have free reign on the security cameras on Fridays or...?”

Wakaba chuckled, finally turning to face him again. “Ah, sharp boy—not quite. I suspected you might be coming in so I took the opportunity earlier this week to loop some footage of other experiments I’ve done back through the feed. No one’s looking at them—this place is pretty empty on a Friday, but I’d never take such a risk where you were involved.”

It was...oddly touching to hear her say as much. He’d always gotten the impression that Wakaba was less sold on him than Futaba and Sojiro, and her attempted blackmail had only worsened that impression—but it seemed she hadn’t been quite as sincere as she’d claimed. 

“That’s...good,” he said, trying to hide the flush he knew was rising to his cheeks.

“Silly boy,” said Wakaba, shaking her head fondly. “Come over here, let’s get you wired up.”

He got up and walked over, sincerely hoping that whatever ‘wiring up’ entailed, it wasn’t as ominous as it sounded. It was quite a relief therefore, when Wakaba simply opened up a cupboard and retrieved two cylindrical plastic-looking things and placed them on the side. 

“Arms out,” she said, and he dutifully raised them for her.

She rolled up his sleeves and briefly felt his pulse in both wrists. It felt oddly like being examined by Tae Takemi. Albeit, possibly even more illegal. 

“Alright, that should be fine,” she said, before retrieving one of the cylinders and ripping open the velcro along one-side, revealing a series of wires underneath. “Now, I’m going to put these on both your wrists,” she said, “it’ll allow me to track your blood pressure, brain waves and general location while you’re in the cognitive world. Hopefully.” 

“Hopefully?” asked Akira. 

“Unfortunately until now I haven’t been able to find a way to access the cognitive world itself to test them out, but with you here that shouldn’t be a problem. According to all my preliminary tests though, it should work just fine in the cognitive world.”

That was all well and good, but Akira knew full-well that unless he was _also_ convinced they were going to work in the cognitive world, they wouldn’t do anything. In fact, he might actually break them, if he wasn’t careful. And he didn’t want that.

“Go ahead and put it on,” he said, hoping that feeling it might induce a bit more confidence in him that they were going to work. 

Wakaba dutifully wound it around his lower arm, and velcro-ed it tight. 

Oh God that was cold! 

“Oh yeah, the wires will be pretty chilly,” said Wakaba, chuckling. “They have been lying around in here for a while now.”

“Ugh...” muttered Akira.

“Don’t worry,” she said, reaching for the other monitor, “once they warm up the electrics will start firing properly so you’ll get used to them pretty quickly.”

“Great,” muttered Akira, as Wakaba strapped on the other monitor. 

“Now you be careful with that arm while you’re in there,” she said, giving his right upper arm a nasty look. “I don’t want you to have to end up in hospital again.”

“Understood,” said Akira.

Wakaba was right about the monitors—they were quickly neutralising to his skin temperature, and he was pretty sure that by the time he got into the Metaverse he wouldn’t notice them at all. In that case they probably would end up working. Which was something, at least. 

“Now then,” said Wakaba, ushering him over to the flat, square-shaped device now sitting in the centre of the room. It was glowing a peculiar green colour. “If you step onto that, I can map you onto my system.”

“Okay...” said Akira, uncertainly stepping onto it. It didn’t _feel_ strange. Yet. 

Then the system flicked on, and he was blinded by waves of green light.

“Don’t panic,” said Wakaba. “It’s just measuring you.”

“Right,” said Akira.

He really shouldn’t be unnerved by this sort of stuff. He went into the Metaverse almost every day back in Itoiyama—he had no reason to be afraid of some machine. 

...He really hated that green light though.

After what felt like an hour, but in reality had probably been more like five minutes, the machine gave a loud beep and the disturbing lights vanished. 

“All done,” said Wakaba, typing something into her keyboard. 

“What happens now?” asked Akira, sincerely hoping it involved stepping off the platform.

“Well, I have you all logged in, and the programme’s all running so...I suppose you’re free to go!” she said, grinning at him. 

Akira stared at her. “You mean...just like that?”

“Just like that,” said Wakaba. “I must admit, I’m curious to find out how you get into the cognitive world. I haven’t been able to research that aspect of it thanks to...logistical difficulties.”

In other words, she didn’t want Shido finding his way in. An excellent decision. 

“I’m afraid it might be more anti-climatic than you were expecting,” said Akira, stepping off the platform and beginning to shift his focus. 

“Oh?” said Wakaba. 

“Well, there are a couple of ways to get in, but there’s only one I use now,” he said, extending his fingers and concentrating on the air around him, feeling for that ever-so-familiar spark. “The others are just too...inconvenient.”

Wakaba probably said something in response, but Akira wasn’t listening. There were lots of potential flashpoints in this room—far more than he was used to, in fact. It seemed that just by researching the Metaverse, Wakaba had grown far closer to entering it than she might ever have realised. The easiest one to use would be directly in front of him, right in line with his eyes. 

He reached up, letting the strange feel of a pinprick in the fabric of the universe ghost over his fingertips, the odd energy of the Metaverse calling out to him, even through this tiniest of cracks. He let it equalise for a second—this was the crucial moment—half in reality, half not—any error now could trap him between dimensions. But the Metaverse was drawn to him, reached for him, gave him the handhold he needed to pull himself through fully to the other side. 

And there he was. 

He hadn’t mentioned as much to Wakaba, not wanting to alarm her, but manifesting in her lab was quite dangerous...being as that was where her Palace was located and all. Fortunately he wasn’t too deep inside—which was just as well because the last thing he wanted was her working out what it was. 

He quickly hurried out of the room, past the ominous bars and dodging nimbly around the guards patrolling the hallways. 

The only good thing about her Palace was that the guards weren’t usually particularly interested in him, thanks to the nature of her distortion. Whether that would last now they were working together... Well. He’d have to wait and see. 

Soon he was out of the Palace and back on the reassuringly stable streets of Tokyo, inhabited by a multitude of Shadows, slipping in and out of the darkness. He vastly preferred this Tokyo to the real one, but he didn’t have time to loiter. The point of this was to see if infiltrating Shido’s Palace would be easier with backup. So it was back to the miserable cruise ship he went.

Hopefully it would go better this time.

* * *

It had not gone better this time.

Their oversight, thought Akira, as he stumbled back into the lab, was that they couldn’t communicate across the dimensions. That would have made the whole thing a lot easier. 

“Akira!” cried Wakaba, rushing to his side the moment he appeared. “Are you alright?”

“Your trackers not tell you?” he chuckled grimly.

“Of course,” she said sharply. “It was an emotional question, not a physical one, you silly boy.” 

“I’m fine,” said Akira, forcing himself upright. “I’m used to it now.”

“It seemed rough in there, going by your brainwaves,” said Wakaba, glancing back at her computer. “Seems the next thing I need to develop is a way to keep in contact with you while you’re in there.”

“Could you build a mic into these?” asked Akira, unstrapping the wrist braces and handing them to her.

“It’s an idea,” said Wakaba, taking them. “You’d need an earpiece to hear me too... I’d need to be careful though. He can’t realise I’m actually working with this, or he’ll wonder why...”

“How is it you have the lab free at all?” asked Akira. 

It had been nagging at him ever since he got inside—he’d already checked to make sure Wakaba’s allegations about harassment were true, and it was perfectly obvious they were, after some close reading and a little time in Shido’s Palace, but...

“It’s complicated,” said Wakaba, with a grim smile. “Suffice it to say you aren’t the only one who’s had to do unsavoury things to get ahead, Akira.”

“So you been using that time to develop the bracers?”

Wakaba sighed, setting them down on the table. “At first I tried to get in myself—I just wanted something—anything, but...I couldn’t seem to manage it. Part of me was afraid I’d already revealed too much—that if he saw me in there somehow it would all be over. It wasn’t long after that I worked out what you were doing. So I decided to develop something more...auxiliary instead.”

“Right,” said Akira. 

He couldn’t see Wakaba’s face from where he stood, but he had a feeling he didn’t want to. 

“But you’re right,” she said, pushing herself upright. “We need to be able to communicate while you’re in there if I’m to be of any use at all. Come back next Friday, and we’ll review our progress then.”

“Okay,” he said.

That was fine. It wasn’t like Wakaba was in any immediate danger, after all—she’d managed to hold out this long. And he had other things he needed to see to. 

“Now then, let’s get all this stuff back away,” she muttered, beginning to clear away the vast reams of machinery. 

* * *

The effects of the Metaverse on his system were already beginning to sink in as he stumbled back to the café that evening. Being able to get genuinely injured in the Metaverse was a whole lot more horrifying than he’d first realised—he was good at avoiding being seen by now—goodness knows he had enough practise, but he’d never really felt...afraid of being spotted before. But he did now. And that was somehow more tiring than everything else he’d done combined. 

_Luckily for us, the normal Metaverse is still normal._

Arsène had a point. And they still had business in the normal Metaverse too. 

_We have three targets lined up,_ said Arsène. _No Palaces, just idiots who need to be bashed about a bit._

“Well, we’ll see about that,” Akira replied, making sure the door was properly locked behind him. “I’m not sure some of them deserve to get off so easy.”

_Point taken,_ said Arsène. _There’s that manager abusing idols..._

“Yep. He’s totally dead.”

_I approve._

“You always do.”

Akira’s phone pinged in his pocket. What was it now?

He fished it out and glanced at the lock-screen. 

_Futaba Sakura: Hey, stop talking to your imaginary friend, wacko._

He really needed to work out how to disable those fucking bugs. 

_Futaba Sakura: Don’t even think about messing up my hard work!_

_Futaba Sakura: Do you know how hard it is to set those things up?_

Akira begrudgingly unlocked the screen to reply. 

_Akira Kurusu: Who says I’m doing anything?_

_Futaba Sakura: I know you, dumbass, you’ll take the first opportunity to sabotage me!_

_Akira Kurusu: I live here. Aren’t I entitled to some privacy?_

_Futaba Sakura: No._

_Akira Kurusu: :( :( :(_

_Futaba Sakura: Don’t make that face!_

_Akira Kurusu: :( :( :( :( :( :( :(_

_Futaba Sakura: Listen, they’re there to keep an eye on Sojiro, not you—just go upstairs and make your grand murder plots up there._

_Futaba Sakura: Who are u planning to kill btw? Is it your teacher? Please say it is._

_Akira Kurusu: It’s haremfucker69. My mortal nemesis in Blue Dead Demonisation._

_Futaba Sakura: Lmao I thought they introduced a profanity filter into that game!_

_Akira Kurusu: Well if they have, they’ve done a piss-poor job of it, haven’t they? Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to bully a thirteen-year-old._

_Futaba Sakura: They grow up so fast..._

_Akira Kurusu: Have fun listening into an empty café, creeper._

_Futaba Sakura: Oh, I will._

With that he stuffed his phone into his pocket and hurried up to the relative sanctuary of his bedroom. 

_I always forget she has bugs down there,_ said Arsène, mournfully. 

“Of course you do, we’re the same person,” muttered Akira. 

Occasionally he got paranoid enough to do an intensive check to make sure she hadn’t put any bugs in his actual bedroom, but fortunately it seemed that was one line Futaba wasn’t willing to cross—which meant he could have his conversations out loud and in peace. 

“Now then, three targets and...”

_One last one. You need to check to make sure he has a Palace._

“Oh, I’m fairly sure he does.”

_Well then, let’s find out, shall we?_

* * *

**Monday 25th April**

The three targets Akira had outlined before had not been troubling to deal with, and now they wouldn’t be troubling anyone else either. What _was_ troubling though, was the persistent lack of any sign or sound from the Metaverse interloper, whoever it was. In fact, there’d been so little evidence of anyone else in the Metaverse that Akira was beginning to think that monster that resided in the depths had just been messing with him.

_Maybe they’re dead?_ Arsène helpfully suggested as Akira grabbed his bag off the table in preparation to go.

_God I hope so. Save us some trouble._

_I have a feeling we would not be so fortunate._

_So do I,_ Akira grumbled internally, before a voice from below shattered his train of thought. 

“Hey, Akira, you’re gonna miss the train!” Futaba yelled up the stairs.

“I’m coming!” he called back, hurrying down them two at a time.

“Finally,” she said, rolling her eyes as he appeared at the bottom. “I thought you might have decided to take the day off.”

“What, and have Sojiro breathing down my neck all day? I’m not stupid.”

Futaba snorted. “If you say so.”

Speaking of the which, Sojiro chose that moment to push the café door open.

“Are you kids still here?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “You’ll be late for the train.”

“That’s what I was just saying!” said Futaba, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him in the direction of the door. “Come on, let’s go!”

“Okay, okay,” said Akira, hurrying outside with her. “What’s all the rush anyway?”

“I don’t want my homeroom teacher to get all huffy ‘cause I was late again,” said Futaba, sulkily. “She already hates me because I’m friends with you.”

“None of those teachers should have a thing against me,” Akira protested. “I’m a model student!” 

“Yeah, but a criminal record’s a criminal record, buddy,” said Futaba, “Guess stigma ain’t that easy to shrug off.”

Akira rolled his eyes. “That’s not my problem.”

“Yeah, but it is _my_ problem—so hurry up slow-coach!”

* * *

Fortunately they weren’t actually late to school, and Akira still had about ten minutes before class officially started. Which was good, because he _needed_ ten minutes. 

He quickly hurried towards his classroom, pushing open the door to reveal that luck was finally on his side today.

Yusuke was there, sitting in his usual seat behind Akira, next to the window. 

“Ah, Akira,” said Yusuke, smiling at him as he approached. That was unusual. Yusuke wasn’t generally much of a smiler. “I was worried you might be late again today.”

“I’m not _always_ late,” Akira protested, sliding into his seat, then turning it to face Yusuke. “Besides, you’re hardly one to talk.”

“My lateness is purely in service of my artistic spirit,” said Yusuke, turning his nose up.

“Oh yeah? I guess the vending machines have nothing to do with it, huh?”

“You never know when someone might have left something in the bottom,” said Yusuke, deadly serious. “It’s important to check, Akira. Practically my civic duty.”

“Is it also your civic duty to eat what you find people have left in the vending machines?”

“Well how else will they learn if they aren’t punished?”

Akira chuckled, but it was forced. Kind of had to be, now he knew... “Couldn’t you just ask Madarame for more money?” 

“Ah,” said Yusuke, suddenly reluctant to meet his eyes. “Sensei is very poor, you know that, Akira. It’s part of the lifestyle he lives.”

“Right,” said Akira. 

That was Yusuke’s response every time. ‘Sensei is poor’, ‘He’s providing accommodation for me and that’s enough’, ‘It’s selfish to ask for more’. 

It probably wouldn’t bug him so much if he didn’t recognise the rhetoric from the very same excuses he’d used about his own substandard parents. But he’d known what they were from the start—that was the difference. He just didn’t want people poking about in his private life, worrying about him. Yusuke, on the other hand...he seemed to genuinely believe what he was saying. And now he knew Madarame had a Palace...it was only that much more troubling. 

The fact Yusuke seemed particularly cheerful didn’t bode well either, albeit, for a different reason...

“Alright class settle down,” grumbled Mr Murakami as he strolled in. “It’s class time now.”

Akira needed to talk to him at lunch. There had seemed to be something stirring for a while now in his manner, and though he seemed happy enough at the moment...Akira had a feeling it wouldn’t be too long until all hell broke loose.

* * *

Yusuke was still in relatively high-spirits by the time lunch rolled around. It was enough of a change from his usual dour demeanour that Akira felt he really ought to ask about it.

“Did something good happen this weekend?” he asked, sitting down next to Yusuke, near the vending machines. 

“Madarame is pleased with how my work is progressing,” said Yusuke, sipping his tea. “Your help has been invaluable, Akira, so I thank you.”

Madarame again. If he was pleased, that meant he wasn’t hurting Yusuke at least, so that was something but...how long would it last? He’d been so melancholy when they first met...

“There’s no need for that,” said Akira. “I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: I’m always happy to help a friend.”

And it was important Yusuke knew Akira considered him a friend—if things went as bad as Akira suspected they could, he needed to make sure Yusuke understood where they were. Akira could extend all the offers of help in the world, but it wouldn’t work if Yusuke didn’t trust him. He _was_ the one he was trying to assist by looking into this, after all.

“A...friend?” said Yusuke, quietly. He seemed almost...distressed by the suggestion. “Is that how you think of me, Akira?”

“Yes—is there something wrong with that?”

He suspected he already knew what was going through Yusuke’s head: that he’d never had friends, that no one seemed to like him, so why would Akira of all people consider him a friend? It wasn’t fair, of course—Yusuke had done nothing wrong—probably still didn’t fully understand why he was so isolated, why his relationship with Madarame went through such consuming ups and downs he could barely focus on anything else but...he _would_ understand eventually. Once Madarame was safely out of the way. 

“No,” Yusuke murmured, finally putting himself together enough to speak, “it’s just... No one’s ever really... What with my art and everything I...”

“It’s okay,” said Akira. “I understand what you’re getting at.”

And he did. Even though it hurt like a blade to his heart every time.

Yusuke gave a short chuckle, trying to hide his former distress, then straightened up again. “Ah, you’re a good friend, Akira. You always seem to know just what to say to get me out of my slumps.”

“Well, knowing what to say is a prodigious talent of mine,” said Akira, grinning at him. 

The tension had straightened out again. For now, anyway.

Yusuke smiled back before growing suddenly serious again. “You know, if it isn’t too much trouble, could I ask you to look over some of my artwork yourself this afternoon? I feel I would benefit from your opinion on it.”

“Sure thing,” said Akira. 

Fortunately Futaba had been mostly sated by the attention he’d given her last week, so he wouldn’t have to worry about her complaining about it for a while. Wait...today was a Monday though, wasn’t it? Curse his hellish schedule.

“I’ll have to leave at six though,” he said sheepishly, “that’s when my shift starts.”

“Oh yes, you have many part-time jobs, don’t you, Akira?” said Yusuke, sounding a little surprised. “Are you sure it’s wise to work so much with your arm still...?”

“It’s almost fully healed now,” said Akira, which was perfectly true. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there to look at your paintings.”

“I look forward to it,” said Yusuke, flashing him one last smile before heading back to class.

* * *

Madarame was as absent as usual when Yusuke guided him back to the huge shack where they resided. But for once, Akira’s mind was not focused on Madarame. No. Right now it was focused on the picture Yusuke had decided to show him. The picture he’d asked him to model for when they first met. 

“Well it’s...certainly dramatic,” he managed to croak.

The word he really wanted to use was ‘unnerving’. Yusuke had asked to use him as a model, but Akira hadn’t exactly had a good view of the canvas while Yusuke was painting, and now... now there was this.

Yusuke’s painting was of an ominous scene; a sunset over a blackened plain, and at the peak of it—the centre of the piece—stood a tall, cloaked figure, with piercing red eyes. It was him. But it wasn’t the version of himself he generally showed to Yusuke. In fact, it was a very specific version—one he would have recognised no matter in what context he’d seen it. This was strange. Very strange. 

“How did you arrive at the theme?” he wondered, leaning a little closer to the picture.

“I’m not sure,” said Yusuke, watching him from the corner. “When we first met I was simply struck very powerfully with a vision of a figure like the one you see in the painting—so of course, I knew I had to enlist your help to bring it to life.”

“ _Should_ such a figure be brought to life?” Akira wondered.

“Ah, perhaps you are right,” Yusuke chuckled. “He does look quite ominous, doesn’t he? But I think there’s a certain air of triumph about him.”

There was certainly an air of _something_ about him, that was for sure. Death and destruction, if you asked Akira. Maybe this was what people were complaining about when they said he looked too intense...

“He’s...certainly unyielding,” he said.

“I’m glad you agree,” said Yusuke, smiling. 

Yusuke certainly didn’t seem on the verge of accusing him of being a trans-dimensional murderer, so that was something, but still...the figure in the picture looked so similar to his outfit in the Metaverse he couldn’t help but wonder...

_If he has been to the Metaverse, then it is purely by accident,_ said Arsène. _He would surely have confronted you by now if it was otherwise._

He had a point. It wasn’t like Yusuke had any reason to shield him, like Wakaba did, after all. 

“I was meaning to ask,” said Akira, eager to get away from the strange picture as a topic of conversation as soon as possible, “your mentor’s having an exhibition soon, isn’t he? Do you know when it’ll be?”

“Oh, are you taking an interest?” asked Yusuke, looking pleased. “I didn’t know you had a genuine appreciation of the arts, Akira.”

He felt slightly bad deceiving Yusuke in this way—well, if deceiving was the right word, it wasn’t like he _disliked_ art—but his true reason for wanting to go had little to do with aesthetics. Madarame would be at the exhibition—there was no doubt about it—and Akira needed to meet him in-person. It was a number of things; establishing more clearly how he saw Yusuke, testing how good his personable mask was, and most importantly—making sure Madarame remembered his face. He had to know who Akira was for the threat of brainwashing to be most effective, after all. 

He could do it without seeing his victims in-person, of course, but it was just such a hassle when the man was right there. 

“Well, I can’t say I don’t enjoy a walk around a gallery,” said Akira, with a smirk, “and besides, I thought we could go together when it opens.”

“Oh!” said Yusuke, his eyes widening. “Well, if that’s what you want I could hardly refuse. Of course I will take you!”

“You...still haven’t told me when it is.”

Not too long, with any luck.

“Ah, yes,” said Yusuke, closing one eye in embarrassment. “It begins on Saturday the 14th of May, I believe.”

“Then I’ll be happy to come.”

Providing nothing went wrong in the interim, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, Akira's got a lot going on at the moment! Between Shido's Palace and Yusuke's problems with Madarame his diary's fully booked! With regards to the Phantom Thieves themselves—don't worry, I haven't written them out of the story altogether, and I promise they'll be showing up soon enough (I mean, it wouldn't be much of a Roleswap otherwise, right?). It's just...taking a while to enter Akira's circle of information. Also, I know I'm playing around a bit with how the mechanics of the Metaverse works here, but it's to do partially with how Akira has more experience with the Metaverse and his relationship with Yaldabaoth, so not everything's working as it did in the game proper. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you guys are enjoying the story—if so, please let me know!


	4. Long Shadows

**Friday 29th April**

Fortunately for him, nothing _did_ happen in the interim. Well—he got news back from various sources that his little interventions on their behalf had worked, so that was something, but otherwise nothing had gone badly wrong during the week. There was still no information on the mystery Metaverse user, but there was no creepy intervention from his least-favourite demonic presence either, so he was taking the policy that no news on that front was good news. It was about time he started gathering more information on the rumours he’d heard but...for now, he had a couple of bigger goals. The first of which he was dealing with now. 

“So,” said Akira, gliding into Wakaba’s lab, “you got that mic up and running?”

“Of course,” said Wakaba, glancing at him as he stepped in. “And an earpiece too, being as you’ll need to hear me. The mic’s all wired up to the bracers. You’ll notice a new fancy button on top.”

He certainly did. On the left bracer there was now a bright blue button, with a little picture of a microphone on it, and lying next to it, a slick black earpiece. Fortunately it looked just small enough to fit under his mask.

“Where do you get all these gadgets?” he chuckled, picking up the bracer and strapping it on carefully.

“Well, a woman’s got to have her secrets, hasn’t she?” said Wakaba, smirking at him. “Now then, I’d like you to test it out before you get too deep into that place, so make sure it works once you’re in the cognitive world fully, alright?”

“Can do,” said Akira, picking up the other bracer and strapping it on, then carefully inserting the earpiece.

From there it was only a quick procedure to shift and identify a flashpoint, and then...

Ah, back in the depths again. Lovely. 

A shock rang through him as a tiny chime came through his earpiece. He quickly raised the bracer to mouth level and pressed the button.

“Hi? Is it working alright?” he said, feeling more than a little awkward.

“Perfect!” Wakaba chirped over the line. “Okay, that should be everything all set for your infiltration. Be careful in there!”

“I will,” said Akira, before releasing the button, and presumably their means of communication. 

_That’s going to be weird,_ said Arsène. 

_No kidding,_ Akira thought back. 

For now though, he had only one objective. Get into Shido’s Palace. Mash his soul into tiny little pieces. Easy.

* * *

 _Remember you can get hurt in here!_ snarled the Trumpeter, deflecting a blast of electricity from a Barong. 

“I know!” Akira hissed back, leaping out of the way. 

Another blast of nuclear energy sent it reeling to the ground, dissolving into smoke in front of Akira’s eyes. 

_Hide!_ hissed the Trumpeter, but Akira was already well ahead of him.

He leapt behind a wall, willing himself to remain invisible as he spied the man he’d been trying to trace ever since he entered the Palace: the politician Ooe—the first of the letter-holders. 

His earpiece crackled on. 

“Akira, that’s enough for today,” said Wakaba, her voice uncompromising. 

His sighed and raised the mic to his face. “But I’m so close!” 

“Go any further when you’re this tired and you’re going to get badly hurt.”

She was right, of course, and about half his Personas were screaming it at him too, but...

 _Akira desist,_ thundered Arsène, louder than all of them. _This is too much. Don’t be foolish._

_...Alright._

It was true he was tired and...ugh, he really just didn’t want to have to deal with another hospital visit.

“I’m on my way back,” he said into the mouthpiece. 

“Good,” sighed Wakaba.

* * *

Leaving the Palace turned out to be a whole lot easier than entering it, and it wasn’t long before he was standing in Wakaba’s lab again—this time slightly more intact than he had been before. Next time...next time he’d finally get that damned politician.

“Same time again, next Friday?” he asked, removing the bracers and earpiece. 

“If you’re up for it,” said Wakaba.

Her face was set in a frown, her manner concerned—he couldn’t let her think he was flaking now. 

“I _won’t_ abandon you,” he said. 

Wakaba smiled a sad smile, then got up from her computer and walked over to him. 

“I really appreciate this, you know that, don’t you?” she said, grasping his shoulder gently. 

“I know,” said Akira. 

And he did—it was obvious, now he knew about it. The tension in her shoulders, the lines forming along her brow, the constantly tired, dull look in her eyes whenever she mentioned her work—he knew the agony she was going through. And he knew that this, however slow and frustrating their progress was, was at least something. Something after a very long time of nothing at all. So he knew. And she knew it too. 

She nodded, rubbing his shoulder. “I hadn’t imagined this would be so dangerous, but...it’s almost a relief to finally be doing something against him.”

“I understand,” said Akira. “If I was in your position I’d want him gone too.”

Wakaba smiled again, but this time it was sharp around the edges. “Oh, I don’t doubt that. You’re a determined one.”

“So are you.”

She laughed, releasing his shoulder. “True! I suppose that’s why we get along so well.”

She took a deep breath, then glanced around her lab. “Hey, you wouldn’t mind sticking around and helping me clean up, would you?”

“Of course,” said Akira.

“Be careful not to lift anything with that injured arm,” she said warningly as she began unplugging the equipment.

“I won’t!”

“Good.” She smiled. “Now if you could get started over there...”

* * *

As usual, it wasn’t long before Metaverse exhaustion began to set in when he got back. 

“Long day?” asked Sojiro bemusedly as he walked in.

“Long day,” Akira confirmed, heading directly towards the stairs.

In less than a minute he’d reached the top, closed his make-shift door, and dropped flat onto his bed. 

He just didn’t have the constitution for long-term stress like this. 

_You’re lucky you didn’t get hurt,_ said Arsène.

“I know,” sighed Akira. “It’s just frustrating to be so...useless! I’m usually so much better than this!”

_You still need to take care of yourself._

Akria sighed and rolled over, facing the wall. “I know that. I just have a lot on plate at the moment. Speaking of...” He drew his phone from his pocket and checked his calendar. “I have tomorrow free. Time to see if I can’t find out more about that bastard, Madarame.”

_That should be somewhat easier than the task we were faced with before._

“No kidding.”

He’d been somewhat hamstrung in looking into it during the week, between various ‘I’m a normal human-being’ activities he liked to do to keep up appearances and having to work to catch up on the rent payments he was beginning to slip behind on. But no one was going to bother him this weekend, which meant he had plenty of time to work out precisely what Madarame had done to gain such an ominous-looking Palace.

_They’ve been getting worse lately, don’t you think?_

They’d certainly been getting more...grandiose, that was for sure. 

“I have a feeling it has to do with our friend that lurks in the depths,” said Akira, clicking his phone off.

 _I think you are right,_ said Arsène, quietly. _...But I also hope you are wrong._

“Yeah,” muttered Akira. 

If that thing _was_ gaining more power somehow, it could only mean bad things. It was a stable situation for now—the only truly disastrous Palace he knew of at the moment was Shido’s but...if it got worse...

 _We can check Mementos another time,_ said Arsène. _For now, rest. You need to recover._

Akira turned over and closed his eyes, but he had a feeling that for all Arsène was right, his sleep wouldn’t be easy at all.

* * *

**Saturday 30th April**

Madarame’s Palace was as grandiose and disgusting as the man himself, with gold plated walls and bright neon blues leaking out from every room. Not for the first time, Akira found himself feeling thankful his mask had the effect of naturally dimming the intense colours of the Metaverse. 

_Be on your guard,_ warned Arsène. _He might not be onto us yet, but he still appears paranoid._

 _Likely because of the bad media beginning to pop up around him,_ Akira thought back. _Seems old sins cast long shadows._

_True, but we both know nothing will happen until he dies._

_I’m not sure death is necessary in this case._

_I hope you’re right._

Deaths were difficult to cause from inside the Metaverse, in any case. Comas? Easy. Brainwashing? Harder, but certainly not impossible. Death was a constant unknown. Sometimes it happened by accident. It was true Madarame was more _likely_ to die from a mental shutdown—he was old enough that the shock might kill him outright—but otherwise it was hard to predict. It largely depended on where they were when they finally collapsed—if it happened in traffic then there really wasn’t much anyone could do. Not that anyone ever recovered from a mental shutdown anyway. Being normally comatose was one thing, being an empty shell without a soul was quite another. Honestly, it would be kinder to kill them. 

But he wasn’t here to linger on the merits of keeping Madarame alive or dead—he was here to more thoroughly interrogate the corruption that had made him this way. 

Fortunately, while the structure was imposing, the Shadows inhabiting it were of the somewhat pathetic variety. 

And the Metaverse was working as normal, which was always a plus. 

_Don’t get cocky,_ warned Arsène, _I don’t care how puny they are, I refuse to deal with another dismemberment._

_I hardly ever get dismembered!_

_That’s what you say every time._

Well, that was hardly _his_ problem. And like everything else in the Metaverse, it wasn’t like getting dismembered in there actually meant anything. Especially not with the healing skills at his disposal.

As such, it was an easy enough matter to sneak past the guards and into the main gallery without attracting much attention. His outfit, as ever, was very useful in helping him blend in. 

_These portraits seem very distinct,_ muttered Arsène, as Akira peered around at the blue-toned pictures. 

“I agree,” he murmured back. “And all of them in school uniform too...”

Hmm. That led to a rather nasty line of thought... 

_I think if that were happening, Yusuke would be somewhat more worse off than he appears._

“You’re right. But something’s up with these.”

_They certainly all seem to represent real people._

“Well, we won’t learn anything by sticking around here,” said Akira, taking one last look around. “Let’s go on to the next room.”

The next room proved a little more constructive. 

“Asura Hirano,” he muttered, looking at one of the portraits. “I remember that name.”

_She committed suicide not long ago. And she used to be a pupil of Madarame’s._

“Huh,” muttered Akira, narrowing his eyes. “Students, paintings, and Madarame...”

The picture forming in his head wasn’t a pleasant one. If these were all former students of Madarame’s, the fact they’d manifested as paintings was more troubling than anything he’d seen so far.

_Objectification._

“Got to love those traditional abuser red flags, huh?” said Akira, unable to prevent his lip curling in disgust. “Of course he doesn’t see them as people.”

_It might be instructive to see if we can find Yusuke._

It sure as hell wouldn’t be pleasant, but it _would_ be useful. “Alright,” he sighed. “Let’s go.”

* * *

As it turned out, finding Yusuke didn’t take long at all.

“There he is,” said Akira, staring up at the large, shifting painting. 

It _was_ Yusuke, no doubt about it, his bright blue hair and bemused, slightly distant smile accurate to a T. 

_You seem unhappy._

“Of course I’m unhappy, that’s my friend,” said Akira, frowning.

 _But this is far from shocking,_ Arsène pointed out. _We already knew he was hurting him._

Akira let out a deep sigh. “I know. It’s just...the way Yusuke talks about him, you’d think...”

_It appears the intensity of Yusuke’s feelings is not reciprocated in his mentor._

“No...” 

He didn’t know why the thought had entered his head. Maybe it was because of his relationship with his own parents, but...even though he’d known Madarame was just using Yusuke, he’d somehow thought it was more personal than that.

_Certainly, Yusuke is very attached to him._

More attached than Akira had ever been to his own absentee guardians. But of course, Yusuke didn’t even realise yet...

_In a sense you’re lucky._

“In a sense.” 

Not that that could ever curb the fact that even the insane ups and downs Yusuke seemed to experience with Madarame was more than Akira had ever experienced with his own parents. But hatred like that wasn’t love, nor was it deserved. He just...had to remind himself of that, every now and again. 

_Come on,_ said Arsène. _There’s more we need to see._

“Right,” muttered Akira, shaking himself. “Let’s go.”

He had a friend to save, after all.

* * *

It didn’t take too long to find it—the final confirmation he needed.

“The Infinite Spring,” he murmured, reading off the plaque of the grotesque looking statue. 

_Seems that confirms the plagiarism rumours._

“No kidding.”

A whirling mass of gold—faces leaping out of wide sheets of metal—contorted—drowning in agony. Madarame’s students. His spring of inspiration, huh? And Yusuke was there, though his face was unseen, trapped in the depths of Madarame’s psychological whirlpool...

_Plagiarism might be the least he’s dealing with._

From Yusuke’s accounts of where he lived—the heating always on and off, Madarame leaving for days at a time, not enough food, constant pressure to produce more art...yeah. Plagiarism was just the tip of the horrible, abusive iceberg. 

“We can’t leave this be,” he murmured, forcing himself to look away from the statue. 

_I agree,_ said Arsène. _But first, we must talk to Yusuke._

“Yeah.” Akira just hoped he would listen.

* * *

**Sunday 1st May**

Akira woke to his phone buzzing. He blearily retrieved it from his pocket and blinked until the new messages resolved themselves in his vision.

_Yusuke Kitagawa: If it isn’t too much trouble, would you like to meet up today?_

_Yusuke Kitagawa: There’s something I’d like to talk to you about._

Akira quickly pushed himself upright. 

_That does not sound good,_ said Arsène. 

“It sure doesn’t,” muttered Akira, leaping out of bed and beginning to pull on his clothes. “Still—if it means he’s realising what’s going on...”

_We need to meet him._

“Yeah...”

He quickly grabbed his phone and unlocked it to text back.

_Akira Kurusu: Sure!_

_Akira Kurusu: Anywhere you wanna go?_

There was a bit of a pause.

_Yusuke Kitagawa: Meet me at Inokashira Park._

The place they’d met, huh? Well, they ran much less of a risk of being spied on that way. 

_Akira Kurusu: I’ll be right there._

_Yusuke Kitagawa: Thank you._

* * *

Yusuke wasn’t exactly hard to spot once Akira got to the park. He was sitting on a bench, staring gloomily at the lake as though he wished it would swallow him up. Something had happened, that much was obvious. 

“Hi,” he said, approaching Yusuke carefully, trying not to shock him. “What’s up?”

Yusuke still jolted, then turned to slowly look at him. 

“Ah, Akira,” he said, and his voice was dull and monotone. “Thank you for coming, I appreciate it.”

“You said there was something you wanted to talk about,” said Akira, sitting down next to him.

Yusuke nodded, looking back out at the lake. There was silence for a moment. Akira waited for him to speak. 

“Do you ever find yourself thinking that...it’s all hopeless?” 

All of Akira’s muscles seemed to tense at once. He’d suspected it was bad, but he hadn’t anticipated it had gotten _this_ bad. 

“In what sense?” he asked. He needed to keep Yusuke talking.

Yusuke shrugged. “I’m not sure. Life seems...awfully dull of late.”

“And why is that?”

Yusuke frowned, his brow contorted, some emotion finally breaking through the haze. “Does it have to be because of anything? Can I not feel this of my own volition?”

Ah, he was getting defensive. At least that was something—breaking him out of the depression. 

“No,” said Akira, calmly. “It’s just...you seemed so happy on Monday...I wondered if anything had happened, that’s all.”

“It hasn’t,” said Yusuke, sharply. 

“Alright,” said Akira. 

There was a silence after that. The wind whispered quietly through the trees. Dim voices of others walking through the park carried to them on the wind. It would have been peaceful, in better circumstances. 

“Have you had anything to eat yet today?” asked Akira, eyeing Yusuke’s thin frame. 

Yusuke shook his head.

“Here,” said Akira, handing him the breakfast bar he’d stowed away this morning. “I was saving it for later but I want you to have it.”

Yusuke closed his eyes tight for a moment, then took a deep, shuddering breath. It was obvious he was trying to hold back tears. 

“Why are you so nice to me?” he whispered, barely loud enough to hear. “No one’s ever...”

“We’re friends, remember?”

“Friends...” 

Yusuke’s face was hidden in shadow, his thoughts obscured from Akira’s gaze. But he _was_ thinking. Good. He needed to think. 

Eventually he breathed in again and sat up straight, taking the breakfast bar Akira had offered. 

“Thank you,” he said, his voice still slightly cracked. “I appreciate this.”

Akira shrugged. “Whatever you need.”

Yusuke laughed, but it was strained. “You’re so nice, Akira. I don’t understand it.”

“You will,” said Akira. 

“Will I?” he muttered. “I hope...I hope someday I do. To have a heart as forgiving as yours...it must be a wonderful thing.”

But of course, Akira wasn’t forgiving at all. But Yusuke didn’t need to know that. Not yet. 

“I’m happy you think so,” he said. 

Yusuke nodded, then began to eat in silence. Something had happened with Madarame, it was obvious. He hadn’t found out today, but Yusuke had _considered_ telling him—and it was a step in the right direction. A big one. And he’d find out sooner or later. Whether it came from Yusuke or not. 

* * *

**Monday 2nd May**

Yusuke hadn’t spoken to him at all in school that day—all Akira’s attempts at conversation were brushed off with stony silence. It seemed he was embarrassed by his near breakdown at the park. It was fine. He’d come around again. If something more had happened, he’d have come back to Akira, and that would have been vastly more worrying than this aggressive embarrassment. 

Akira was used to playing the long-game with victims like him. Sometimes it would take months for them to be in a position to be freed from their abuser, sometimes they wanted their tormentors gone flat—Akira was used to it now. Knew how to play the game. Wait for the perfect moment to strike—to avoid hurting anyone too badly. Well. Except the abusers, of course. 

So he could wait a few more days. And keep a watchful ear out for any more murmurings of hopelessness from his friend. Because if Yusuke _did_ begin to feel actively suicidal, then...he’d have a much bigger problem on his hands. 

_You should go back downstairs,_ Arsène offered. _Spend some time with Sojiro. You’ve been too stressed lately—your performance in Mementos the other day was appalling._

“Thanks,” muttered Akira, rolling his eyes, but he knew Arsène was right. Between Shido’s Palace, Yusuke’s troubles and the potential of another, unknown Metaverse user, these past few weeks had been waring him down. 

He made his way slowly downstairs, the exhaustive effect of the last two weeks seeming to pile up on him all at once now he finally had a moment to think.

“You alright there?” Sojiro asked bemusedly as he limped half-heartedly around the counter. 

“Here to help,” said Akira. 

“Well you don’t have to look so damned miserable about it,” Sojiro chuckled, throwing his apron at him. “Now get that on, and make sure you smile for the customers.”

“Sure thing, boss,” said Akira, tying it around his waist. This much was familiar at least.

He quickly found himself falling into the usual routine around the café, bantering with Sojiro as he showed him how to make a new brew he’d come up with, calmly serving the regular customers who showed up day after day. In fact he almost felt somewhere close to normal again when it happened. 

“Hey boss, doesn’t that sound like one of those mental breakdowns people keep having?” asked a rather pompous man Akira had yet to learn the name of. 

He was pointing at the TV screen in the corner that Sojiro always kept on. Mental breakdowns were, of course, Akira’s speciality, but...this was odd. He couldn’t remember causing any breakdowns recently. Shutdowns yes, breakdowns no. And as he squinted at the screen to gather what the news story was, he got an odd sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Outlets are reporting that Suguru Kamoshida, a former olympian and current PE teacher at the prestigious Shujin Academy, confessed in a public assembly today to sexually and physically abusing his students. Police have taken him in for questioning, and though details surrounding the case are yet unknown, it bears a resemblance to other strange lapses in sanity we’ve been seeing nationwide. What could be causing these mental breakdowns?”

Suguru Kamoshida? He’d never heard that name before. But if he’d confessed to his crimes in a sudden and inexplicable change of personality...

_It’s them. Whoever’s discovered the Metaverse—they’ve worked out how to brainwash Palace-owners._

Akira could hear his heart in his ears. It had taken him almost eight months to work out the intricacies of how Palaces worked, but this new interloper had cracked it on their very first try? How? How was it even possible they could have worked it out so fast? If they were that intelligent then... This was bad. This was incredibly bad. 

_We know one thing already,_ said Arsène, already beginning to calculate how to deal with the situation, _they almost certainly go to Shujin Academy._

Right. That narrowed down the list of suspects. Now he just had to find out the victims. Because if anyone would want to get back at Kamoshida...well, it had to be one of them, didn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyy finally a sign of the PTs! So Kamoshida's dealt with, but who dealt with him? Any bets as to whether Ann and Ryuji did it on their own or if they had additional help? And Yusuke is...really not doing so well at the moment. Hopefully Akira being there will help but...his idea of helping is kind of twisted, so maybe it won't be _that_ much help. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! If so please let me know!


	5. Beginnings of a Breakdown

**Tuesday 3rd May**

Akira awoke that morning with a heavy feeling on his chest. Not for the first time since the beginning of the school year, he had absolutely no desire to get out of bed. On Friday he had to meet with Wakaba in her lab to finally take out that asshole politician in Shido’s Palace—something that would exhaust him at best and seriously injure him at worst. And before then, he needed to wait on Yusuke to explain what had happened with Madarme that had upset him so much, and try and figure out the miscreant that had worked out how to use Palaces to their advantage. 

It was going to be a _long_ week. 

* * *

His headache and general sense of malaise continued throughout the day as Yusuke continued to avoid him, and he tried to overhear as many conversations as he could about what had happened at Shujin. He had an ace up his sleeve with regard to that though, and he intended to make good use of it this evening. Until then, he just had to make it through the school day. Somehow. 

By the time evening came his headache had become acute, and he was seriously considering going home and calling it a day but...he really did need to do this. Which was why, at about nine o’clock in the evening, he strode into the Crossroads Bar.

“Hey!” cried Ohya, her face lighting up as she saw him, “If it isn’t my favourite source of juicy info!”

“Back here again, are you?” Lala asked bemusedly from behind the bar. 

“How could I abandon my favourite reporter—surely languishing after weeks with no news from me?” asked Akira, bowing exaggeratedly. 

Ohya giggled uncontrollably, while Lala just rolled her eyes. “You’re gonna be a heartbreaker when you’re old enough, you know that?” she grumbled. 

“I think I still have a couple of years of youthful innocence left in me, don’t you think?” 

Lala looked skeptical.

“Alright kid,” said Ohya, still grinning, getting up and taking him by the shoulder, “let’s go sit in the corner where Lala doesn’t have to worry about us scaring all her other customers away.” 

She gently guided him over to her usual seat, before digging out her notepad and gazing at him sharply. He noticed she’d ordered water today. She must have been on the case already—but then—Ohya always had had an excellent sense of what would make a good news headline. That had been part of the reason he’d tried so hard to befriend her—after all, it wasn’t like it’d do him any good for the press to be spitting rumours left, right and centre about the mental shutdowns. They still talked about it, of course, but as far as anyone knew, it was all largely due to a strange new neurosis spreading through the populace. Something he knew he could at least partially attribute to Ohya. 

“So?” she asked, leaning towards him across the table. “Got anything good for me?”

“Well, good and bad,” said Akira leaning back. 

“Ah,” said Ohya, the spark in her eyes lighting up, “one of those ‘I scratch your back you scratch mine’ kinda deals, huh?” 

“Almost exactly,” said Akira, grinning at her. 

“So my little bloodhound, what have you sniffed out for me today?” she asked, pen at the ready. He always gave his information first. It was tradition, after all.

“You need to keep an eye on the artist Ichiryusai Madarame—seems he’s plagiarising off his students.”

“Hmm,” said Ohya, her eyed narrowing, “yeah, I’ve heard things like that before—but whenever any of my colleagues have tried to report on it they’ve always gotten shouted down. You might have stumbled on something dangerous there, kid.”

“I think it’ll be more dangerous for him,” said Akira, sipping at his water. “What with this new disease going around.”

“Ah, I see—so you’re predicting he’ll be the next hit?”

“I think he’ll be hit sooner or later.”

“Well, I can’t deny that’s useful,” said Ohya, pursing her lips, “and if it turns out he _does_ have a mental breakdown I’ll be the first on the scene, so I _suppose_ that’s enough for your end of the deal... Well then, what do you want to know?”

“I think you’ve already guessed,” said Akira, smiling at her.

Ohya smirked. “Is it about that teacher at Shujin Academy?”

She always had been a sharp one.

“Got it in one.”

“Why are you so eager to know?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “Got a friend there or something?”

“No,” said Akira, “I’m just curious.”

Ohya snorted. “You’re never _just_ curious, kid—I’m hitting on something big aren’t I? I knew it!”

“We’ll see,” said Akira. He didn’t want her thinking too hard about it, after all—especially since it could so easily link back to him. “What have you heard?”

“All sorts of things,” she sighed. “But I suspect the part you’ll be most interested in is his weird change of personality.”

“Yep,” said Akira, leaning forward. “What do think? Is it like the others?”

“The other mental breakdowns?” she sighed. “Yeah, pretty much _exactly_ like them—but this time with a big exception.”

“Exception?” asked Akira, raising his eyebrows. 

Ohya leaned in to convey the information in a conspiratorial whisper. “I spoke to some of the kids from the school, and all any of them can talk about is how a few days before Kamoshida broke down, there were messages posted all over their school board from a group calling themselves the ‘Phantom Thieves’, claiming they were going to ‘steal his heart’—of all things!” 

“Steal his heart?” asked Akira, narrowing his eyes. 

“Yeah—seems _they_ think these mischief-makers must have been successful given his breakdown. Oh and—this is interesting too—on the cards they accused the teacher of the very things he later confessed to—sexual abuse, assault, the works! I suppose they must have been victims of him—trying to play a prank on him since the school administration weren’t doing anything about him.”

It all fit with what Akira had already been thinking—a student at Shujin—likely a victim of Kamoshida. But why would they post their intentions all over the school? Were they an idiot? 

But then, the fact they'd used the term ‘Phantom Thiev _es_ ’ suggested something very interesting indeed. That there might be more than one of them.

If so, that might explain why they’d figured out the Palaces quicker—two heads were better than one, after all. But even if several people had gotten in, did it make sense that such inexperienced scrubs would figure out the exact mechanism of stealing a ruler’s Treasure and not killing their Shadow in order to brainwash them into eternal misery? Difficult...very difficult... He’d have thought if they were a victim they would have defaulted to killing Kamoshida—it was quicker, easier and equally as effective. But they’d gone to the trouble of brainwashing him instead. Why? Who _were_ these people? 

“Penny for your thoughts?” asked Ohya, still watching him intently.

Akira shook himself. “Nothing, it’s just...odd, that's all. Perhaps they were trying to push him into having a mental breakdown?” 

“Now _that’s_ an idea,” said Ohya. “It’s not like the press have been quiet about this weird psychosis or anything—perhaps they thought the cards might provoke that last push needed? If they were right, it would have some very interesting implications, given most of the victims have been breaking down right at the peak of depravity.” 

“Think the kids could get punished for it?” 

Ohya shook her head. “Doubt it—it would be incredibly hard to prove they actually _caused_ it, and given their accusations were right, I wouldn’t be surprised if the police deliberately overlooked it. Plenty of people see these shutdowns as a good thing, y’know. Weeding out the undesirables.”

“Kind of a disgusting way of looking at it,” said Akira, trying to keep his stomach turning at the thought.

He was trying to help people trapped in the most desperate, impossible situations and free them from their chains—not commit some kind of genocidal social cleansing.

“I agree,” chuckled Ohya, “but it’s sadly not an uncommon point of view in this day and age. Too many people want their problems solved for them.”

Akira nodded pensively.

“So,” said Ohya. “That scratch your itch for info?”

“Yes, thank you, Ohya,” said Akira, rising from his seat. “That’s been very helpful.”

“Ugh, don’t say things like that,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Makes me feel like I’m talking to my boss.”

Akira chuckled, and Ohya grinned at him.

“Go on then, go home—I imagine Lala doesn’t want you sticking around here too long—she’ll get worried for your safety.” 

Akira rolled his eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

“Alright macho man—go on then,” she said grinning at him.

“Bye, Ohya.”

“Bye kid.”

* * *

It was late when he got back to the Leblanc, but his mind was still buzzing.

So his Metaverse opponents were Shujin students—likely victims of Kamoshida. They were reckless—posting up those cards in their very own school, where there were probably only a small number of known victims, making them fairly easy to profile if the police ever got involved. But despite their recklessness they’d not gone with the easy approach of killing their tormentor, instead taking the time and effort to work out how to brainwash him, and getting rid of him that way. 

Now, that would suggest they had an aversion to killing, so they probably hadn’t encountered the Metaverse before—nor would they be going on to cause any outright shutdowns or deaths if they could avoid it. Kind of a skewed sense of morals though. After all, wasn’t being rewritten like that practically as good as death? Certainly someone like Kamoshida, a prolific predator with an ego big enough to give him a Palace, would never recover. He’d spend the rest of his days in confused, self-loathing misery. Most likely he’d commit suicide in prison as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Had these amateurs considered that? Maybe. But maybe not... 

Ugh, he needed to find them. 

But would they go on to do more? If they really had been victims, wouldn’t dealing with Kamoshida be enough? 

_We’ll most likely soon be informed._

Akira hadn’t felt the presence of the creature in a while, but...there was no telling when it might come back. For now, though, the Metaverse interlopers could be (hesitantly) moved to the back of his priorities, now he knew a bit more about them. Yusuke and Wakaba were far more pressing concerns. 

_Yusuke has agreed to meet you next Saturday, regardless, and I doubt he’ll break his promise._

And Wakaba...he’d deal with that on Friday. 

Until then it was one day at a time. 

For now.

* * *

**Thusday 5th May**

Another day came and went with Yusuke refusing to talk to him, and Akira was beginning to think he might have gotten over it himself. It was now Thursday. That made four days of being ignored. Surely it couldn’t be too much longer now? 

As he strode into class that morning, he quickly spotted Yusuke staring at his desk in a now familiar stony silence...but something was wrong. He seemed to be...almost shaking? Akira darted over to his desk, and was about to try and talk to him, when Mr. Murakami had to come in and ruin everything.

“Kurusu-kun, get into your seat, it’s class time now,” he called across the classroom, putting an end to any attempt to get more information about Yusuke. 

Lunch...he had to talk to him at lunch.

* * *

When the morning’s classes were over and they were free to go to lunch, Yusuke shot out of the classroom like a lightning bolt, clearly eager to get away. Akira hated to disturb him when what he probably wanted most was solitude but...he needed to find out what was going on. He couldn’t let this continue unchallenged much longer. 

It took a while to find Yusuke, who had squirrelled himself away in an empty classroom on the third floor. 

“Yusuke?” Akira called from the doorway as he crept inside. 

He heard a great shuddering sigh from where Yusuke was curled in on himself. Well, that all but confirmed it then.

“What do you want?” Yusuke called across the room, clearly trying hard to project his usual aura of haughty coldness, but being more than a little sabotaged by how much his voice was shaking. “Why do you keep bothering me?”

Akira closed the door softly behind him, and walked over to where Yusuke was sitting. 

“I’m worried about you,” he said, once he was close enough for Yusuke to hear. 

“That’s no concern of mine,” Yusuke sniffed, trying to hide his face in his knees.

“It _is,_ ” said Akira, calmly. “You’re my friend, after all.”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t be,” he mumbled. “Nothing good will come of it. Nothing ever does.”

“What makes you think that?”

Yusuke lifted his head in surprise, then narrowed his eyes. “What do mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said,” said Akira, leaning back on a table. “What makes you think nothing good will come of us being friends?”

Yusuke shook his head softly. “It’s...not to do with you, it’s... My life is...not mine to give away.”

What on earth did that mean?

“You...think it belongs to someone else then?” asked Akira. “And who might that be?”

Yusuke closed his eyes, refusing to look at him. “Akira...you already know. Don’t make me...”

“I want to hear you say it.” 

Yusuke let out a sharp breath.

“It’s...it’s—”

He cut himself off, shaking his head vigorously.

“Why am I doing this?" he whispered. "I have no reason to be upset. I agreed to this. So why...?” 

Akira watched him in silence. It was hard, watching him beginning to crumble like this, realisation finally sinking in, but Yusuke had to come to the answer himself. He had to be the one to say it. 

Yusuke sat up suddenly, looking straight ahead, out of the window. “I’m so ungrateful,” he whispered, almost to himself. “After everything he’s done for me...”

“Who?” asked Akira. 

Yusuke exhaled shakily. He was so close now...if he could only force himself to say it, they'd almost be there...

“It's Madarame.”

_Finally._

He couldn't let the opportunity go now he had it—now Yusuke was finally in the right state of mind to listen.

“What’s he done?” asked Akira, immediately pressing for answers.

Yusuke pursed his lips, raising his eyes to the window again. “It’s really...nothing important.”

“I’d like to know,” said Akira, sitting down next to him. “Seeing as it’s worrying you so much.”

Yusuke shook his head again. “I have no reason to be so upset, it’s stupid, really, nothing unexpected.”

Such low self-esteem. But he couldn't let Yusuke brush him off—not now.

“Maybe it’ll help to get it off your chest?” 

Yusuke finally turned to meet his gaze, his puffy, bloodshot eyes meeting Akira’s own. He looked so...achingly miserable. 

“You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to,” said Akira—for all he wanted to help he couldn't risk destablising Yusuke any further. “I just want to help in any way I can.”

Yusuke gave a melancholy smile. “I don’t deserve your friendship, Akira.”

“I’ll be the decider of that,” said Akira, smiling gently at him. 

Yusuke sighed, before finally straightening up fully. It seemed he’d come to a decision. 

“I know this sounds foolish,” he said quietly, his voice still cracked from tears, “but if I tell you this—can you swear no other soul will know?” 

“I can.” That much, at least, was a promise he _could_ keep. 

Yusuke frowned, then licked his lips nervously. Akira would have offered him water but in his rush to find him he’d left his own in the classroom.

“As part of my...living arrangement with Madarame,” he began, “there are certain...terms I have to live with. A rent agreement of sorts.”

He went silence, clearly not sure how to phrase whatever was coming next. Akira remained silent. He was getting there, Akira just had to wait.

“You see, for some time now, Sensei has been suffering with an...art block.”

“Art block?” asked Akira.

Yusuke nodded. “Like writer’s block. He puts his paintbrush to canvas and cannot think of anything to paint whatsoever. So, we, his students...we..." He paused again, swallowing hard. Almost there. "We agree to give him our work...in exchange for his tutelage.” 

He'd suspected as much, but to hear it from Yusuke's own mouth... So he'd had his piece stolen by Madarame, but that had to have been happening for some time now, so why... _Oh._ God, that man really knew no shame, did he?

“Is that the work that will be on display in the gallery on Saturday?”

Yusuke frowned, his face contorted with obvious pain. “...Yes.”

“Is _your_ work there?”

“Yes.” 

Yusuke was trembling again. Akira silently offered his hand, and Yusuke immediately grabbed it, squeezing it tight in his grip, still refusing to look Akira in the eyes. It was like he was trying to cling to his sanity by his very fingertips, using Akira as some sort of lifeline. It was fine. He could still do this—first of all, though...

“Do you...still want to go on Saturday?” 

Yusuke let out a bark-like laugh—emotion exploding out as he tipped from misery to laughter. “Is that really...?” He turned to face Akira, his eyes brimming with tears, though from the force of his laugh or from pure, soul-crushing sorrow Akira couldn’t tell. Maybe a strange mix of both. “You know, you’re the strangest person I’ve ever met,” he chuckled through tears. “Truly.”

“I accept that,” said Akira, with a bemused shrug. He needed to project an air of calm as long as humanly possible. “Doesn’t answer my question though.”

Yusuke laughed again, still gripping Akira’s hand tight. “Yes. I want to go. I’ll have to go anyway and...it’ll be so much easier...if you’re there.” 

Akira smiled. “I’m happy to hear that.” 

Yusuke nodded—then, without warning—pulled Akira into a tight hug.

“Thank you,” he whispered, almost before Akira had fully processed what was happening. “I don’t know what I’d have done if...”

Akira wrapped a tentative arm around him, rubbing his shoulder. “Don’t think about that. There’s no need.”

Yusuke nodded. “Yes, I think you’re right.”

Then he slowly pulled away again, and Akira let him disentangle himself, wiping away his tears.

“Ah, I’m sorry, Akira,” he said, forcing a smile again. “What must you think of me now? Putting you through all that?”

“I think you’re very brave.”

Yusuke’s eyes widened. “Brave?”

“Yes,” said Akira, trying to smile but unable to entirely keep the melancholy out of it. “It must have taken a lot to tell me all that, especially when you were already so upset. I appreciate it.”

Yusuke smiled, though he tried to turn away to hide it. “I...thank you, Akira. I couldn’t ask for a better friend.”

Akira grinned. “Come on, let’s get something to eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

Yusuke laughed. “I hadn’t even realised...it’s still lunchtime!”

“Then let’s go,” said Akira, taking him by the arm. “Futaba will kill me if I miss lunch again.”

“Yes,” said Yusuke, looking happier than Akira had ever seen him before. “Let’s go.”

It was almost time now. Almost.

* * *

The only thing he hated about emotional confrontation, other than the entire...emotions...thing, was how bone-deep exhausted it made him. He went straight back to the Leblanc after school, having no energy to attempt anything else today, be it in real life or the Metaverse. 

Sojiro greeted him as he came in.

“Oof, someone’s had a rough day,” he said, as Akira approached the counter.

“No chance of a freebie?” he asked, looking mournfully at the coffee machine.

“While my customers are in here?” asked Sojiro, raising an eyebrow. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

“Fair,” sighed Akira, and he _would_ have slumped off to head up to his room and get some much needed rest...had Sojiro not said what he had next.

“Huh...I think that kid goes to the school that was on the news the other day. You know, the one with the awful teacher?”

Akira blinked a few times, trying to work out what on earth Sojiro was talking about—a kid? What kid? But a quick glance at the TV screen quickly explained his confusion. 

There, staring blankly out of the screen, was Goro Akechi—teenage detective...and idol of hundreds of teenage girls everywhere. Akira had been on the late-night shift at the café enough to get very used to the various inane talk shows airing on TV in the evening, and Akechi had been showing up pretty regularly on them since last year. Honestly it was a bit unnerving someone so young had managed to get into the police force at all, but he supposed there were obnoxious high-achievers everywhere. He hadn’t realised the school he went to was Shujin Academy though...

“So Akechi-kun, how does it feel to have been instrumental in the arrest of such a dreadful man?” the newscaster was asking. 

“Oh, you can’t give me all the credit,” said Akechi, smiling in a distinctly fake manner. “I would never have discovered him without the help of my fellow students.”

“Ah yes, there were warning messages posted up on the school board, weren’t there?”

“Oh, I didn’t have anything to do with those,” said Akechi. “I would only ever pursue the proper means to get criminals in jail—though of course I sympathise with the victims in our school.”

The model answer—probably similar to the one Akira himself would have given if anyone had asked him about any of his victims. Not that they ever did. He was only a high-school student, after all. 

“How is you think he was able to go so long without being discovered, Akechi-kun? It surely doesn’t speak well of the school faculty that they were ignorant of this for so long.”

“I’m not sure it’s fair to blame them for not spotting what was going on,” said Akechi, quite plainly choosing his words very carefully. “Men like Kamoshida are excellent actors, after all. That’s what enabled him to get away with it for so long.”

“So you would assign no blame to your school itself?”

Akechi gave the most pained-looking smile Akira had ever seen, and said, “No, not at all.”

Seriously? The announcer was seeing this, right? Did the school principal have a gun pointed at him off-screen? 

“Poor kid,” said Sojiro, not helping matters. “I feel sorry for the school though, they’re going to have a hell of a time of it for employing a monster like that, even with him defending them.” 

“Think it’s really believable no one knew anything for that long?” asked Akira.

“Not really,” sighed Sojiro, shaking his head. “But I doubt anything will be done now the teacher’s gone. That’s the way the world works, I’m afraid.” 

Akira rolled his eyes. 

“Hey, what have I told you about that rebellious streak of yours?” asked Sojiro, sharply.

“That it has no place in the real world, and is in fact what got me arrested in the first place,” droned Akira. 

“Exactly. Now get on upstairs if that’s where you’re going.”

Akira did as he was told, though he couldn’t help sarcastically noting to himself that since most of his ‘rebellious streak’ was confined to the Metaverse, technically he _was_ taking Sojiro’s advice. Technically. 

He dumped his bag on the table with a sigh, then fell back onto the couch. 

_Think that amateur celebrity could be one of the ones we need to worry about?_ asked Arsène.

“Doubt it,” said Akira, examining his fingernails. “He doesn’t strike me as a victim. Or the type to keep the Metaverse to himself if he did discover it.” 

_True. Still at square one then?_

“Still at square one,” sighed Akira. 

But for now, square one of that investigation was about as far as he was willing to take things. After all, tomorrow was Friday, and then...then he’d have something real to worry about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akira: *goes to ridiculous lengths to help his friends out of abusive situations, up to and including killing people*  
> Akira: *sees Akechi on TV professing to do the exact same thing, but without the murder*  
> Akira: Why the hell would that guy be on my list of suspects? He just seems like too much of an asshole? There’s no way he has access to the Metaverse.
> 
> Welp, there’s definitely a lesson to be learnt in cognitive bias there friends, but Akira sure as hell isn’t interested in learning it. In fairness to him though, he has hell of a lot of other things to worry about atm so I can't strictly blame him for not clocking on to the risk straight away. We'll see how long it lasts!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading, and if you enjoyed this chapter, please let me know!


	6. Troubling Developments

**Friday 6th May**

“I see him,” muttered Akira, crouched behind the restaurant bar. 

“Be careful,” Wakaba crackled back over the earpiece.

“I always am.”

Ooe was milling about the restaurant floor, acting like he owned the place, the spiteful bastard. It was possible Akira could just try to nicely convince him to give him the letter but...somehow he didn’t think Ooe would listen. Especially not while Akira was stuck in a get-up like this. 

He needed to approach carefully—the best method would be to catch him by surprise—that way he could expose the Shadow instantly and calculate what Persona would be best to cripple it. 

He’d been pacing back and forth for some time now. All Akira had to do was catch him... Back past him once, still facing in his direction, unaware of the danger waiting for him. Just a second and he’d turn, and then—

Akira leapt from behind the bar, tackling Ooe before the man could process what was happening. As he grabbed his shoulders, they seemed to warp and bend out of shape, the fabric turning to black smoke beneath his fingers as Ooe’s Shadow form revealed itself. 

A Yamata no Orochi towered before him. This wasn’t a normal one though—it seemed...stronger, more focused somehow. Nevermind. He’d dealt with creatures like this before, and he could do it again. He quickly summoned Parvati to his side. She was perfect, able to repel the creature’s ice attacks and crack its skull with psychic energy at the same time. 

With a snap of his fingers, she got his signal and let loose a wave of bright pink energy. The snake gave an incredible _hiss_ as the energy collided, collapsing in on itself as the psychic waves reverberated through its nerve-endings and rendered it temporarily useless. 

Akira rushed forward, his knife flickering in his hands as he gave one deep gash—then two—trying to reach for its heart. He had to be quick—it was weak but it would regain its energy quickly. Shoving another neck out of the way, he tried to spot the weak point he knew should be there, in the centre of its chest... Where was it? Where—

Pain exploded through his ankle.

Something sharp sinking in, burying itself deep in his flesh, cutting through muscle—white-hot agony burning in his foot. He couldn’t stifle the sharp yell that escaped his throat at the pain, but—he couldn’t lose this opportunity! He’d been trying to get here for so long! 

Ignoring the pain, ignoring the weak spot that should be there but wasn’t, ignoring the hundreds of voices buzzing in his ears about how screwed he was if he didn’t get medical attention _right now,_ he reached for his knife and plunged it blindly into the beast, still lying on the ground.

With one last, terrible noise it sank, collapsing into a pile of black and red ichor, then sinking through the carpet, into the depths of this hellish place. Akira was sprawled on the floor, his foot still burning with agonising pain. He took one brief glance at it. Just about the only thing he could process before he looked away again was that there was red. A lot of red. And a very disfigured-looking foot. Damned snake must have bitten him. 

He became aware in bits and pieces that his hearing had, at some point, blacked out completely, but now he was slowly getting it back, and what he was getting it back to was yelling. Lots of it. 

The voice over his earpiece was by far the loudest though.

“Akira? Can you still hear me? What’s happening in there?” 

Akira groggily raised his arm to his mouth and pressed the mic on. “It’s okay,” he managed to say. “I got him.”

The letter was lying on the floor in front of him. He quickly grabbed it and pocketed it before anything else could happen. 

“It’s not okay!” Wakaba snarled over the line. “Your brain waves and blood pressure readings are insane! Are you injured?”

“My foot’s been mangled,” sighed Akira, taking another glance at it and quickly looking away. 

“How much is it bleeding?”

“A lot.”

“Okay.” He heard Wakaba take a deep, ragged breath over the line. “Okay. First of all, get your shoes and socks off if your skin’s been punctured.”

“Hang on a sec,” said Akira, wearily pushing himself onto his knees, trying to judge if he should attempt walking. 

Hmm. No. Definitely not. 

He tried to leverage himself as best he could without putting extra weight on his foot and crawl over to the bar area, where nothing else could spot and try to eat him. 

“What’s happening?” asked Wakaba. “Are you still there?”

“Still here,” Akira muttered back. “Just getting to a safe area.”

“Right... Good.”

He nodded, though he knew she wouldn’t see, and finally managed to shuffle behind the bar.

“Shoes and socks off, right?” he asked over the line.

“Right,” said Wakaba.

Akira grimly turned himself around and forced himself to look at his foot properly. Ugh. That was a lot of blood. 

He gingerly reached out and haphazardly slipped his boot off, wincing as the leather brushed against the puncture wounds. But that was the easy part. The hard part would be...

“You struggling?” asked Wakaba. 

“Just got to deal with the sock,” Akira muttered back. 

It would usually be bright red anyway, but had now turned to an odd brown colour from all the blood. Not good, not good. And some of the wound was visible where the wretched snake had sunk its teeth through the fabric. Really, _really_ not good. He took a deep breath, grabbed the sock with both hands and yanked it off in one quick motion. 

It felt a little like being bitten again, only worse, because this time it was _his_ fault.

“I assume that’s the wound cleared,” said Wakaba.

“Sure is,” winced Akira. 

“Do you have any water nearby? You need to wash it out.”

Nearby? No. In his pack... 

He reached around inside, eventually finding the water bottle he’d been looking for. He shakily unscrewed the bottle, then carefully poured it over his wounds, washing away some of the blood. It quickly began to well up again. He looked away, stomach churning. 

“All washed,” he whispered. 

“Right. Are you still bleeding?”

_“Oh yeah.”_

“You need to bandage it.”

After the last fiasco in this particular Palace, he’d made a point of bringing some actual bandage dressing with him, so he quickly dug that out of the eternal void and wrapped up the wound as best he could. It took about four layers before the bandages weren’t so soaked through as to be useless.

“Bandaged.”

“Do you think you’ll need to go to hospital?”

Akira sighed. Realistically, with his wound still bleeding like that...

“Not hospital, but... I know a doctor I need to see.”

“You have your own doctor?” Wakaba asked with surprise.

“Something like that.”

He was pretty sure Tae would object to such a title if he ever dared to voice it in front of her though. 

“You should leave the cognitive world and try to get back here on foot,” sighed Wakaba. “If you stay in there—”

“I’ll be able to get back through the Metaverse,” Akira said quickly.

_Now is not the time to be testing out your inane theories!_ snarled Arsène.

_Shut it!_ Akira thought back. 

“I’ll be with you as soon as I can,” he said aloud, before letting go of the mic and hauling himself haphazardly to his feet. Well. Foot. He needed to find a crutch or something...

_There are some walking sticks over by the entrance,_ grumbled Arsène, clearly still pissed off. _Hurry over there before you bleed out._

Akira did as he was told and hobbled towards the entrance, staying out of the Shadows’ line of sight as best he could. He quickly wrenched a large, wooden stick out of the holder and used it to half-run out of the door. It helped a _little_ with the pain but...only a little. He needed to leave the Palace quickly. 

Shadows still lurked on every corner—possibly more than usual thanks to his confrontation with Ooe but...he could make it out. He had to.

He dodged down the corridor, careful not to put too much weight on his injured foot, watching carefully for every lucky opening, taking every chance to move he saw, and then—

Then he was out. 

Stumbling onto the pavement of the normal Metaverse, free of the ship-like prison that was Shido’s Palace. Now he could try and see if he could fix this on his own.

In most Palaces, after all, the debilitating ordeal of status effects usually only lasted inside. Surely it would be the same with Shido’s Palace? 

Parvati hovered over his shoulder, before looping around to his see injured foot and eyeing it skeptically. 

“So you want me to fix this up for you?” she asked. 

He nodded, holding out a hand for her to utilise his energy. She quickly grabbed it, then, with a sensation a bit like a black hole opening up in his soul, cast Diarahan. 

He felt the magic leaving him, felt the coolness on his skin, felt the magic trying—trying so hard to knit his skin back together—heal his wounds, but—

Parvati gasped with exertion, shaking her head. “It’s not working, Akira.”

Damn it! But how did he... Ugh. It didn’t matter now. Obviously this was more complicated than he’d thought. For now, he needed to get his foot seen to, ASAP.

“Okay, Wakaba,” he said into his mic. “I’m gonna need you to take me to Takemi’s Medical Practice.”

* * *

“Damn,” hissed Tae, examining his foot. “It’s been a long time since you swung around here with an injury like that.”

“I’m not gonna need to have it amputated, am I?” Akira asked jokingly. Internally though, he knew the prognosis was bad. 

“Not amputated, no,” sighed Tae, glaring at him, “but it seems like something tried to amputate it _for_ you. Those are deep cuts—you did wash them out, right?”

Akira nodded.

“Okay, that’s something,” she sighed. “Hold that still, let me get out my stuff.”

She wandered over to her cupboards and began pulling out what Akira recognised as the familiar accoutrements. 

“I’ve got to say, I’m surprised he brought you along,” said Tae, glancing at Wakaba, who’d been sitting silently in the corner since they arrived. “Did you know your kid gets banged up so much?”

“I had an inkling,” said Wakaba, casting a cool glance at him. 

“Okay,” said Tae, sliding a small table of bottles and bandages over. “I’m gonna clean that out for you, then dress it nice and tight.”

“What, no stitches?” asked Akira. 

“Not this time, my little guinea pig. This time, you fucked your foot up properly. That wound needs to be kept open to heal this time, and you’ll need to wash it twice a day until it scars over, alright?”

“Oh come on,” grumbled Akira, but Tae was already beginning to mess about with her bottles. 

The cleaning process was as agonising as he remembered it, and he found himself lamenting the fact he hadn’t spotted the damned snake moving its head sooner. Eventually, when it was all bandaged, he forced himself to glance back. 

“Alright,” said Tae, picking up a couple of bottles, “these are some antibiotics to stop you getting infected. Take one from this bottle every day for a week,” she shook the bottle with the yellow label in front of him, “and two from this bottle every day for twelve days, understand?” She pointed at the bottle with the red label.

“One from yellow bottle every day, two from red bottle every day, got it.”

Tae rolled her eyes and handed them to him. “Some other pointers, though really you should know them by now: don’t change the dressing for two days, and don’t get it wet during that time. Showers only, until that wound’s healed, and since I’ve left it open, you need to carefully wash it out with clean water every day, twice a day until it heals, got it?”

“Is this after the first two days?” asked Wakaba, from the corner.

“Yes,” said Tae. 

“How long do you think it’ll take to heal?” asked Akira, swinging his legs down. 

“Two weeks minimum,” said Tae, glaring at him. “And don’t even think about going running. You can walk, but don’t push it.”

“I won’t,” said Akira, and for once he genuinely meant it. The threat of having to deal with that much blood again was more than enough of a deterrent to keep him out of Shido’s Palace safely for another two weeks. 

“Alright then, you’re free to go,” said Tae, pointing at the door. “And take care of yourself. Or else.”

Akira grinned and Wakaba just nodded soberly before escorting him out of the clinic. 

She’d reserved comment until now, driving him to the clinic in silence and remaining that way for the majority of the time he was there. He had a feeling it wouldn’t last much longer. And it turned out he was right.

“Seems you’ve gathered quite the collection of acquaintances,” said Wakaba, lightly. 

“All sorts,” Akira agreed. “It’s a...complicated job I’m in. Need all kinds of contacts to keep things running smoothly.”

“I see.”

They walked in silence for a bit longer, pausing before the side-street which led back to the Leblanc. Wakaba was frowning deeply. 

“Akira...are you really okay with doing this?” 

He’d been wondering how long it would take her to ask.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I’ve done this kind of thing before.”

Wakaba breathed deeply, nodding. “You’re tough. I know that. It’s just...if you died in there...”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. I would have ended up targeting Shido eventually, you know. With or without your help.”

Wakaba laughed dryly. “Your vindictive streak knows no bounds. But then...neither does mine, so I suppose I shouldn’t complain.”

“No,” said Akira, smiling back. “You shouldn’t.”

She shook her head. “Alright then. Two weeks before we try again. Minimum.”

“Don’t worry,” said Akira. “I’ll be ready.”

“Just don’t push yourself too hard.”

“I won’t.”

* * *

**Saturday 7th May**

“Hey, what the heck’s this?” asked Futaba, grabbing one of his medicine bottles off his desk.

“It’s rude to go poking about in other people’s stuff,” said Akira, quickly grabbing it back off her. “And these are illegal vitamin pills, obviously.”

Futaba rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”

“Of course not,” said Akira, replacing the bottle. “They’re antibiotics. My cut got infected so I’m making sure it doesn’t get any worse.”

“The cut on your arm?” asked Futaba, her eyes widening. “But I thought that was all healed up?”

“Yeah, so did I,” muttered Akira darkly. So she hadn’t spotted the bandages on his foot yet. Good. “But no. God has it in for me. So now it’s a regime of antibiotics until it looks normal again.”

Futaba winced. “Yikes, rough luck, Akira.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Plus next week’s exam week.”

“Oh, haven’t you been revising?” she asked, shooting him a nasty grin. 

“I don’t need to revise,” he replied smugly.

“Ugh, I forgot you have a memory almost as good as mine,” she grumbled. “Disappointing.”

“Hey, I don’t get top of the class all the time for nothing, y’know.”

“Well, you kind of do, since you don’t actually revise.”

“Oh yeah. Guess I _am_ lucky about some things then,” he said with an intentionally irritating shrug.

“I’d be so pissed off if I was in your year,” sighed Futaba. “But since I’m not I guess we can be smug together instead.” 

“Nice,” said Akira, grinning at her. “So, made any friends in your year yet?” 

“Ugh, you sound like Mom,” groaned Futaba, flopping back in her chair. “I don’t _need_ friends.” 

“But it might be nice to have some.”

“Yeah, maybe,” sighed Futaba, swinging forward. “Besides, I don’t see how you get to talk. You didn’t have any friends last year.”

“Um, I have plenty of friends,” said Akira, glaring at her. “They’re just not in school.”

“Oh yeah, bet you’re gonna tell me you have a girlfriend in America too.” 

He leant over to try and grab her magazine away but she shot out of the way like a bullet. 

“Hey! No taking my stuff!”

“Then stop poking around my private life,” said Akira, clattering back onto his chair. “And besides, I _do_ have a friend in class now, so you have no excuse.”

Futaba rolled her eyes. “That tall weirdo, right?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d heard Futaba refer to Yusuke that way, but he’d assumed at first it was just jealousy. But he’d made a concerted effort to spend more time with her after their argument, so it couldn’t just be that...

“What have you got against Yusuke?” he asked curiously.

“Nothing,” said Futaba, a little too insistently. “He’s just strange, that’s all.”

“Strong words from the Queen of Strange herself,” said Akira, bemused.

“Hey!” cried Futaba, glaring at him. “I won’t take bullying, you know!” 

“I know,” said Akira. “But he is a good friend, so you have nothing to worry about if that’s it.”

Futaba sighed, then sat back down. “Okay, if you say so. But if he’s ever mean to you I’ll kick his ass—got it?”

Oh, so this was...protectiveness? That was kind of funny actually. Especially considering Yusuke had at about a foot on Futaba height-wise.

“Alright,” he said, unable to hide a grin. “I’ll stand and watch as you...I dunno—disable his kneecaps maybe?”

He only just dodged the magazine that came flying at his face. Ah. It was nice when life was simple. Well. Simple enough.

* * *

**Thursday 12th May**

“Thank God exams are over,” sighed Akira, slumping down in his seat. “That sucked.”

“I’m surprised,” said Yusuke, glancing up at him over his lunch. Akira had been bringing him various bits and bobs in over the week once he realised Yusuke was never going to remember to do it himself. “You usually get top of the class in our exams.”

It was true, and he’d probably gotten top of the class again, but there was no need to brag about it or anything. He _was_ trying to keep his head down, after all. 

“Well yeah, but that doesn’t mean I _like_ taking them or anything.” 

Yusuke chuckled, taking a bite out of his apple. “Ah, too true. Exams truly are the worst part of school.”

Yusuke had been in a notably better mood since his breakdown last Thursday, hopefully because he realised Akira was fully on his side now. And there had been no more ominous mutterings from him about how hopeless life was either, so that was something. 

But he did feel he ought to bring it up...

“The exhibit’s on Saturday, right?” asked Akira. Yusuke’s cheeriness immediately vanished. Ugh, he really needed to deal with Madarame soon... “Is there a particular time you’d like me to be there?”

“I will most likely spend the morning assisting Madarame with putting up the pictures,” sighed Yusuke, “but the exhibit will be open to the public by the afternoon, so you could meet me there any time after one o’clock.” 

“I’ll be there at one sharp,” said Akira, smiling at him in an attempt to cheer him up.

Yusuke smiled warmly back. “Thank you, Akira. I can’t express what a relief it will be to have you there.” 

“I’m always happy to help.”

* * *

**Saturday 14th May**

Akira found himself with an unusual strain of nerves as he stood in front of the gallery. It didn’t help that his foot had been aching since early that morning and was showing no signs of stopping any time soon. It was probably just stress. 

_Akira..._

_Not now,_ he thought back, before Arsène could complete the thought. He couldn’t think about that now. He needed to focus on helping Yusuke. 

He had a ticket—Yusuke had given him one on Friday. All he had to do was go in. 

He took a deep breath, reminding himself that, just like in the Metaverse, fear would do him no good here. Madarame didn’t know what he was. Even Yusuke didn’t know what he was. He could do this.

He stepped inside.

Yusuke was waiting for him in the entrance. 

“Akira!” he cried, his face lighting up the moment he caught sight of him. “You really came.”

“Of course I did,” said Akira, hurrying over to him with a smile. “I wouldn’t just abandon you, would I?”

“No,” said Yusuke, taking him by the shoulder and steering him inside. “You wouldn’t. I’m so glad you came—would you like to see the works on display? I’d be happy to give you a tour.”

“I’d like that,” said Akira. “You can tell me all about them, if you want.”

Yusuke quickly caught his double meaning, and gave a small, sad smile. “I’d like that too, if you’re willing to hear.”

“I am.”

Yusuke smiled. “Then let’s go.”

* * *

Yusuke guided him slowly all the way across the gallery, talking about each piece and the emotions they expressed; speaking of the calm, patient nature of the painting of a koi pond, and the tough, confrontational tones of a stormy piece. In Yusuke’s stories the characters of his fellow, lost students came to life, and the further they got into the gallery, the more Akira could feel Yusuke’s own anger at the way they’d been treated beginning to bubble and boil up from where he’d left it hidden for so long. 

Eventually they came to a painting Akira recognised—it was the piece he knew Yusuke had been working on before he’d begun his painting of Akira. A beautiful green landscape, but the sky was flecked with red, the brush-strokes sharp and deliberate. Even Akira could tell how Yusuke had been feeling when he’d painting this. He’d gone silent, staring at the painting in a quiet, pensive manner.

“And this one?” prompted Akira, gently. 

“It has a...certain immaturity about it, don’t you think?” asked Yusuke, barely loud enough to hear. 

“I think it’s beautiful,” said Akira.

“Do you?” asked Yusuke, avoiding his gaze. 

“There’s a certain anger about it,” he said, glancing back at the picture. “But it’s honest. Grounded. The shapes are clear—determined, even. Wouldn’t you say?” 

Yusuke took a shuddering sigh, then straightened up, and smiled wanly. “Perhaps you are right. I struggle to see the beauty in this piece myself, but if _you_ can see it then...perhaps it does have some value.” 

“Ah, Yusuke.”

Shit. He’d been waiting for this to happen—and he expected Yusuke had too—but did it have to happen _now_ of all times? 

He turned, and there—smiling oh so innocently at the both of them, was Ichiryusai Madarame. His Shadow-self really wasn’t a bad approximation, now Akira saw him in-person. 

“Is this the young man who caught your attention a few weeks ago?” he asked, all smiles and charm. “I can certainly see the resemblance to your piece.”

“This is Akira Kurusu, Madarame-sensei,” said Yusuke, deferentially. “He’s a classmate of mine.”

“Charmed to meet you, sir,” said Akira, assembling his best respectable-straight-A-student mask in an instant. “I was very interested to see your exhibition.” 

“Ah, there’s no need for such formality,” said Madarame, with a casual wave. “Just Madarame is fine. And I’m so happy you’re taking an interest! So many young people ignore art these days—are you perhaps an aspiring artist yourself?”

Everything had been almost perfectly normal-seeming—right until Madarame asked about his potential as an art student. It lasted less than a second, but Akira had seen it—a hungry, predatory look flashed across his face—a hint of yellow sparking in his eyes as he revealed just a fraction of his true self to the surface. Oh, this bastard was evil, alright. 

“No, sensei, Akira’s just very interested in your work, that’s all,” said Yusuke, actually stepping in front of him slightly. Seemed he’d caught that flash too, however unconsciously. “Akira’s always been interested in art—it’s part of why I asked him to model for me.”

“Ah, I see,” said Madarame, but his smile had grown just that bit tighter. A predator never likes to be stripped of his prey, after all. And unfortunately, Akira was pretty sure he’d caught Yusuke’s defensiveness too. That did not bode well. “Well, I hope you enjoy the rest of the exhibition, Kurusu-kun. It was nice to meet one of Yusuke’s friends, for once.” 

And with that he swept away, but the tension he’d created lingered. Yusuke was tense, prepared to spring at the slightest provocation. Akira carefully stepped around to insert himself between Yusuke and Madarame’s line of sight. He jolted slightly at the sight of Akira. 

“Come on,” said Akira, grabbing him gently by the arms. “Let’s get something to drink—we’ve been walking around for a while now.”

Yusuke took a deep breath, then nodded. “Yes, let’s go. There’s a café not far away.” 

Akira let Yusuke take him winding away from the exhibition and into the smaller, quieter café area. 

“Sit down,” said Akira, pointing to one of the free seats. “I’ll order us drinks.”

Yusuke nodded mutely, taking a seat at the table. 

Akira went up to the counter and ordered drinks he was fairly sure Yusuke would enjoy, before taking them back to their seat. 

“Okay,” he said, setting the tray down and passing Yusuke his coffee, “drink that. It’s decaf so it shouldn’t make you jittery or anything.”

Yusuke nodded and took a long sip as Akira sat down opposite him. 

He sighed deeply as he set the cup back down. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I somewhat ruined that, didn’t I?”

Akira shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I understand.”

Yusuke nodded pensively. “I find myself sometimes wishing...that I were not bound up with all this.” 

Oh? Now that was _definitely_ interesting. 

“Others have left before you, haven’t they?” 

Yusuke nodded. “But they...as I understand it they have not done well for themselves, most of them. Certainly not with regard to...this line of work.” He glanced pointedly around the gallery. 

“Is that because of him?” asked Akira.

“Yes.”

“Are you...scared to leave?”

Yusuke blinked several times, staring down at the table. When he spoke it was so quiet Akira almost didn’t hear. “Yes.”

Akira withdrew some tissues from his pocket, sliding them across the table to Yusuke, who took them and quickly began to wipe his eyes. 

But really, that had been all the confirmation Akira needed to finally act. He couldn’t go in today—that would be too suspicious, and Futaba and Sojiro had him cornered tomorrow with regard to various things he needed to do for them—but Monday. On Monday he could strike. And until then...

“I’m here for you,” said Akira. “Whenever you need anything, you can talk to me. You know that, right?”

Yusuke gave a small, tearful smile. “I do. And I truly appreciate all you’ve done so far. No one else has done this much for me, so I...”

His eyes began to fill with tears again, and Akira reached over the table and gently clasped his wrist. 

“It will be okay,” he said, with all the conviction in his soul. “I swear it.”

“Thank you, Akira.”

“It’s nothing.”

He would grind Madarame to dust. 

It was finally time for another mental breakdown. He _would_ free Yusuke. 

He had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally get to see a bit of Akira's bloodthirstiness leaking out this chapter! After all, for all he's pretending to be normal, he _has_ done an awful lot of terrible shit by now. If he has a fatal flaw then it's definitely the fact that he gets just a tad too protective of his friends—something Madarame is going to find out imminently if nothing gets in the way.
> 
> Also Tae's finally here! Akira can't get conventionally injured in the Metaverse, but if he exits out of it without remembering to deal with his injuries then...nasty stuff can happen. Hence why Tae's still pretty familiar with him. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and if so, please let me know!


	7. Hairline Fractures

**Monday 16th May**

Today was the day. Madarame knew his face, and Akira knew all Yusuke needed was one last push before he could finally be free of Madarame’s grip. Finally he could destroy that miserable man—then Yusuke could finally start beginning to live his life as he deserved to. He just needed to sort the Palace. Or so he thought. 

Yusuke was being...strange, again. 

“Is something wrong?” he asked, as they got let out for lunch.

“Oh no, not at all,” said Yusuke, in a somewhat dazed, distracted way. “If you don’t mind I’m going to spend lunch doing some work in the artroom.”

“That’s fine,” said Akira, though it really wasn’t. 

Yusuke seemed almost...lost—confused, perhaps? Had something else happened? But if it had then why hadn’t he told Akira? He knew he could tell him anything—Akira had made sure of it, but... Hmm. This was very troubling.

He quickly retreated to a smaller classroom, where no one could see him messing around on his phone. He hadn’t wanted it to come to this, but he had to check.

The MetaNav icon loomed large on the screen. He tapped it and whispered, “Yusuke Kitagawa.”

“No candidate found,” came the metallic voice from the phone.

Akira exhaled heavily. No Palace. That was...something, at least. But something was clearly weighing on Yusuke’s mind—something he clearly didn’t want to talk about. Maybe he just had to give it time. And besides, soon he’d be erasing the source of most of Yusuke’s troubles for good. He had nothing to worry about. Probably.

* * *

The Shadows had been putting up more of a fight today—not surprising considering Yusuke was finally beginning to seriously consider leaving Madarame—something he’d have noticed, consciously or not. But the fiercest fight couldn’t change the fact that the Shadows in here were still weak in the face of Akira’s two years of experience, and he wiped the floor with most of them fairly easily. 

In fact there was just one problem...

_Wretched boy,_ croaked Abaddon, crawling along miserably behind him, _your injury is costing us time._

“If I _could_ heal it, I would,” Akira growled back, looking at the corridor up ahead. 

All clear. He broke out into a light jog, ignoring the slight pinches of pain through his foot and the grumpy sigh from the evil frog behind him. 

It couldn’t be far to the control room now—he wanted to steal the Treasure with minimal interference, after all. 

There was a door just up ahead. He stole through, and sure enough... 

The control room. Finally. 

There was no one inside—as he’d suspected, most of the guards seemed to have been monopolised for patrol duty—and he scanned the panels of buttons and levels for a suggestion of what they each might do. Ah. There was a locked cupboard over in the corner. That probably had instructions in. 

He quickly glided over and carefully picked the lock—though he had more than enough experience by now to make it the work of a few seconds. Then the cupboard swung open, and sure enough, a moment of fishing through various documents found him the instructions to the panel. 

Ah, very interesting—so he could shut off the lights and get rid of all those pesky grates, could he? Well, that could be useful...had the mainframe not been programmed to override the lights in a matter of seconds. He could take out the mainframe itself but...that could prove more trouble than it was worth. 

It seemed the control room wasn’t likely to help him in stealing the Treasure. 

There were some interesting bits in here about fire safety though—and if he set fire to the main gallery downstairs it would go up in smoke very quickly, if he timed it right...yes, that might be an idea...

He wandered over to the security cameras, only to find that—oddly enough—there seemed to be some movement already happening on the lower floors. Guards were running about left, right and centre. That didn’t seem right—Akira had been very careful, after all. 

Then he heard voices—just outside this room, in fact. Shit. He needed somewhere to hide. 

A few leaps took him up on top of the cupboard, and then another let him out onto the window, balancing carefully outside, just out of view of the guards that had now gathered within.

“I can’t believe those fools on the lower floor haven’t even caught the intruders yet,” grumbled one of the guards. “Do they think this is a joke? Lord Madarame will have their heads once he finds out.”

“ _If_ he finds out,” said the other guard.

Intruders? _Intruders?_ Wait—that couldn’t be— But why would they target Madarame, of all people? Who did they think they were? 

The heavy sense of dread that had been following him around since Saturday was settling ever deeper in his stomach. 

He could sense it—the creature—even here. Perhaps even _especially_ here. It would speak soon and then... Did it really have these people under its thrall? Was it trying to prevent Akira saving Yusuke by using them as its proxy? 

He had no choice now—he had to find them—find them and burn them—destroy them—

_Akira._

Clawed hands settled on his shoulders, a familiar, steady voice in his ears. 

_You need to calm down. This fear is what it wants. We must find and interrogate them before we jump to conclusions._

_Yes,_ Akira thought back, trying to calm his buzzing thoughts. _Yes I...understand._

_Good. Now hurry. If they’re raising the security level like this, it may prevent us carrying out our plan regardless._

Alright. Time to find these intruders and work out what the hell it was they thought they were doing. Then he could work out whether or not they were being manipulated.

He leapt from where he was balanced on the window to the beams running across the ceiling, hopping over until he was able to manoeuvre himself out of the window and onto the roof. They were on the lower floor, weren’t they? Time to go down. 

He slid down the roof, then hopped neatly through the portal he’d created in those silly doors that blocked the courtyard. He liked mental blocks that manifested as physical barriers—they were so easy to mess about with. Things like healing blocks, on the other hand, were far more frustrating. 

They were around here somewhere, weren’t they? So then he—

“You.”

Akira whirled around, already cursing himself for not scouting out the courtyard properly. The menacing form of Shadow Madarame smiled fiendishly at him. Smug bastard.

“What do you want?” hissed Akira, already looking around for an escape route. 

If worst came to worst then he’d just have to portal out of the Palace altogether, but then he’d have to leave the brainwashing until tomorrow, and that was less than ideal.

“So you’re the menace that’s invaded my museum,” leered the Shadow Madarame. “Thinking of stealing the Treasure, were you?” 

Shit, guards were arriving from all angles now. Madarame had him cornered—and he seemed to know it.

“Well then? Are you going to give in?”

“Not likely,” Akira hissed back.

It was no good staying in here though—there were too many of them now, and there was no reason for him to die in here pointlessly. He needed to leave. 

In less than a second, he grasped for the nearest flashpoint, the sound of Madarame’s gloating still ringing in his ears as he stumbled out onto the concrete, heart hammering away in his chest. But where exactly was he? He needed to—

An ear-shattering _beep_ sent him lurching backwards, almost tripping over the verge as he fell back onto the pavement and he saw with horror that he’d only narrowly been missed by an on-coming car. 

This is why he liked to plan his exits rather than just manifest randomly around Tokyo. 

Picking himself up fully, he leant back against a nearby wall, breathing heavily. His ears were still buzzing with adrenaline. 

_Let’s start heading home,_ said Arsène, by his side immediately. _You can think on your way back._

He certainly could. 

He picked himself up, still shaking slightly from the strain of an unplanned exit, before turning and heading back towards Shibuya, where he could finally catch a train to Yongen. 

Well. That could certainly have gone better. 

More importantly, though, what the _fuck_ was going on back there? Had the Metaverse intruders really managed to get into Madarame’s Palace? How? And _why?_ They didn’t know Yusuke—practically no one but him knew Yusuke—Yusuke had told him as much! The creature—that loathsome demonic little cretin—had to have put them up to this—had to have had some hand in it. 

So now it was going to try and interfere with him directly, was it? Well, he wouldn’t have that. But how to deal with these idiots?

It wouldn’t be strictly fair to kill them just for unknowingly taking the creature’s word on how the Metaverse worked—he wasn’t that cruel. But if they’d _agreed_ to help it—if they really understood what it was trying to do, well... Then they deserved whatever they got. And he _would_ get them. He couldn’t have interference now. 

_They shouldn’t be too hard to track down if you exert some effort—but they’ll most likely hear of you in the process. And you don’t want that celebrity getting wind of you regardless. He could cause serious problems for us if he decides we have bad intentions._

Arsène was right—and even more frustratingly, Akira knew that he wouldn’t be able to fully confront these students without them working out who he was and what he’d done—something he wanted to avoid at all costs. If any of them worked out he’d been using the Metaverse to cause the mental shutdowns and passed it on to the police, it could be lethal—they didn’t even really need proof with his existing record. He couldn’t afford to have them work him out. But equally, he couldn’t afford to have them prancing about the Metaverse, interfering with his projects. 

...Or potentially ending the world as they knew it. That was important too. 

_If they really are intent on stealing Madarame’s Treasure, then they won’t have succeeded today. We should check back on them tomorrow. That may yield us some answers._

It was a good point. With any luck he could conceal himself and they’d go strolling on by—revealing their identities in the process. Hmm. He hoped their masks weren’t like his though—it could prove problematic if they covered their entire faces. 

_We’ll have to wait and see,_ said Arsène. _Tomorrow?_

_Tomorrow._

* * *

**Tuesday 17th May**

Or, it _should_ have been tomorrow. 

“Akira, I have to talk to you.”

Yusuke was staring down at him, looking more annoyed than Akira had ever seen him before. Oh, something had _definitely_ happened.

“Sure,” said Akira. “Is there anywhere you want to go?”

“Here is fine,” said Yusuke, not even glancing around to see if anyone was nearby. No one was—the broken vending machines were usually deserted for a reason, after all, but that didn’t make Akira feel any better somehow.

“What is it?”

Yusuke seemed like he was about to say something sharp, but he bit his tongue and looked surreptitiously around before sitting down right next to Akira and whispering in a furious tone, “Yesterday, I was confronted by several people on whether Madarame was stealing my work. Care to explain how they found that out?”

Akira’s mind was going a mile a minute. Confronted? On the plagiarism? By strangers? That didn’t sound right... And Yusuke was accusing him of telling them? But who...

“Who were they?” asked Akira.

“No one important,” said Yusuke, curtly. “I believe they’re students of Shujin Academy. But that’s rather irrelevant.”

It was anything _but_ irrelevant. 

Students of Shujin Academy—near strangers—confronting Yusuke on Madarame’s plagiarism—something they could only have confirmed for themselves by...by... Ha! He’d _found_ them! But first he needed to sort this situation out, before he potentially lost Yusuke as a friend altogether. 

“I haven’t spoken a word about your situation to anyone,” said Akira, trying to best to sound sincere, though his mind was going a mile a minute. “I would never betray you like that—I don’t even know anyone from Shujin, so I have no idea how they heard...”

Yusuke gave a deep breath and leant back, giving Akira some much needed space. “I see,” he said quietly. 

“Did they say where they’d heard about it?” Akira asked cautiously.

Yusuke paused for a moment, biting his lip, his eyes bloodshot and shadowed from an obvious lack of sleep. “I believe they said something about hearing about it online, or some such nonsense.”

He needed to approach this carefully... “I know this is a sensitive subject for you, but there _have_ been more rumours about Madarame posted online lately. Especially since he’s having his exhibition just now.” 

Yusuke sighed, and nodded, wiping his eyes. “Yes. Yes, you’re right. I fear I might have jumped to conclusions. I’m sorry, Akira.”

“It’s fine,” said Akira, automatically. “I know you’re going through a hard time right now.” 

Yusuke gave a quiet, miserable laugh. “Yes, I suppose I have, haven’t I? Not that that excuses things... Would you mind terribly if I ate lunch with you today? Somehow I don’t think I will be able to focus much on my art at the moment.”

“Of course,” said Akira. “Whatever you need.” 

He _could_ spend the rest of lunch trying to prod at Yusuke for more information on these mysterious Shujin students but...Yusuke seemed to be in a very fragile place at the moment. Fragile enough that Akira didn’t think it was worth disturbing him just for his selfish desire for information. Besides—he’d likely find out about them after school anyway. 

It wasn’t long before Yusuke returned with his lunchbox. 

He sat down next to Akira with a deep sigh, and it was a good five minutes before he actually opened his box to—surprise, surprise—definitely not enough food. Akira could feel the red creeping in at the edges of his vision. He needed to stay calm though. For Yusuke’s sake. 

They sat in silence for some time, until, unusually, Yusuke introduced a topic of conversation. 

“I fear I may be becoming more useless by the day,” he muttered, so quietly Akira almost didn’t hear it. “I wish I didn’t feel like this. I never used feel like this before...so why now is it suddenly so hard?”

Akira had an inkling as to what he might be talking about. He’d been listening on some of the teachers in the hallways, and it was beginning to get around rather quickly.

“This is about your artwork, right?”

Yusuke nodded silently. “I can’t seem to find any inspiration. I wield my brush but all my ideas are gone. It was never like this before—even in the depths of despair, I could still somehow find the energy to paint—although I fear my anger likely came out in my brushstrokes.” 

It had certainly seemed so when Akira saw the painting he’d done that was currently on display in the museum.

“It used to be that I’d channel my frustration into my artwork—use it to become better, but now... Now all I can think of is how much it pains me to continue trying.”

“It makes sense,” said Akira, trying to piece together what must be going on in Yusuke’s mind. “You want to escape but you find you can’t. That would drain anyone of energy.”

Yusuke laughed dryly. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Still, it’s miserable. And Madarame will only make life harder for me if I fail to produce work for him. I might even lose my scholarship here—my entire worth in this world is art. If I can’t produce it, what does that make me?” 

The answer, of course, was that like any human being, he’d still be worthy of dignity, respect and a stable school life—but Yusuke, he knew, wouldn’t see it that way. And unfortunately neither would most of his teachers. Hmm. He needed to introduce this angle carefully.

“If Madarame suddenly disappeared tomorrow, do you think you’d still be stuck in this slump?” asked Akira.

Yusuke sighed deeply, and leant back in his seat. “If Madarame disappeared...what a strange thought. Still...maybe? I truly can’t say. I’ve never known life without him, after all.”

“I understand,” said Akira. “It’s hard to think about.”

“And impossible, in any case,” muttered Yusuke. He still sounded so defeated... “Anyway, it’s time we got back to class. We wouldn’t want to add lateness to our list of misdemeanours.”

“No,” said Akira, “I guess not.”

Yusuke still seemed...frankly alarmingly unhappy, even if he didn’t have a Palace. It was worrying...

_Perhaps, before we venture back into the Palace, we should check up on his other self?_

The other Yusuke...the one that resided where all the other selves did. Seemed it was finally time. 

Time to go Mementos.

* * *

Yusuke’s Shadow resided on the third layer of Mementos, not deep within the depths but deep enough that Akira usually zoned out on the way down. Usually. Today, however...

_Get off the train,_ Arsène commanded, spotting it almost at the same instant Akira did. 

He was racing out of his seat and onto the platform in a second, the train zipping away mere moments later. He could see it right there—clear as day. The door that had been closed as long as Akira could remember—the reason he had to portal through to the trains to get anywhere in Mementos at all—it was open. Clearly, unmistakably open. 

But how? 

He crept over to it, half afraid it might suddenly slam closed as he approached, but...there it stayed. Open. Open as he stepped cautiously onto the other side, open as he descended the escalator. Descended to the second floor. 

Trains rushed by on the other sides of the walls that closed in all around. An eerie hissing seemed to come from deep within. This was the central chamber alright—where all the lost and lonely Shadows gathered—not so corrupt as to have Palaces, but not quite resigned to the depths either. Yusuke was waiting somewhere on the layer below. 

Akira glanced back up at the escalators, ascending into pitch-black darkness. The doors were open. The doors were open. Nausea began to choke his chest. The doors were open, so did that mean that creature—that monster—had already gotten the upper-hand? Even as he stood here, was it extending its tendrils out of the depths, waiting to destroy all he held dear? Had he...lost? 

“Akira.” A voice, hovering next to him, now manifested fully. “We can’t afford to linger. The Reaper—”

“Damn the Reaper!” Akira snarled, whirling around to face Arsène. “The Reaper is _nothing_ compared to this!”

“We don’t know yet if all the doors are open,” Arsène pointed out, his voice as cool and detached as ever. “Get on a train and ride down to the next platform. Then we can assess whether or not to panic.”

It was a bit late for that. Akira was trembling, his hands cold, his breaths sharp and laboured. But Arsène was right—he had to check. No matter how terrible the truth waiting for him might be.

“Alright,” he said, exhaling deeply. “Alright. Let’s go.”

He headed over to the walls separating the inner chamber from the trains that raced outside, then, latching onto the power he held deep within, pushed—pushed until the wall was no more—until he had enough space to leap through and—

He caught the train door, hanging on by his fingertips as it careened down the track, holding on so tightly he thought his fingers might break from the stress of it. 

Then it began to slow down. 

Slowly—achingly, painfully slowly—he reached for the mechanism which would release the train door, and as it clicked, quickly made his way inside—slamming it behind him with a _bang!_

He dropped into the nearest seat, legs trembling uncontrollably beneath him. He felt so cold, even with the weight of his cloak pressing down on his shoulders. 

“Two more stops,” said Arsène, appearing beside him. 

Akira nodded silently. Two more stops to find out if the entire world was doomed or not. 

One stop passed. Then the second.

The train rattled and screeched in the tunnel. 

And then... 

The train only took the briefest of pauses at the stations with the doors, but it was enough for someone like Akira to dive off in time. 

And then he was standing on the platform. Staring up at a large, solidly closed door.

So they were safe...for now. 

His legs chose that moment to signal to him that that was enough for them, and he dropped so quickly he didn’t quite realise what had happened until his hands caught him before he face-planted into the concrete. He was trembling. He couldn’t stop trembling. Stomach-churning nausea had woven its way through his insides, and he swallowed copiously, trying his best to repress the overwhelming urge to throw up. 

It was safe. The beast was still trapped. Still trapped, but...

“It has to be because of them,” said Arsène, crouching next to him to offer his hand. Akira quickly took it, letting his Persona wrench him upright again. “These people might be more dangerous than we’d feared.”

“No shit,” spat Akira, still trying desperately not to vomit. “What were they thinking? Beginning to open up this place like this? They have to be on its side—there’s no way—”

“We can speculate all we want,” said Arsène, “but the truth of it is that we have no idea what their motives are. All we know for sure is that they’ve figured out brainwashing, took revenge on their teacher and are now attempting to do the same thing to Madarame, for reasons unknown.”

“And they can open these doors,” said Akira, glaring at the imposing mass. 

“Yes.”

Well. All the evidence suggested to _him_ that they were on the creature’s side but...

“Come,” said Arsène, ushering him onto the train that had just stopped. “Let us speak with Yusuke’s Shadow before we consider our next move with regard to these people.”

“Alright,” sighed Akira, dropping into a seat. “Yusuke first. Then the imposters.”

“Exactly.”

It didn’t take long for the train to stop at one of the lower platforms, and Akira quickly hopped off, before making his way across to the other side and burning out the glass so he could access the inner chamber. No matter how many times he took the damned windows out they had always regenerated by the time he got down there again. So irritating. 

Then it was only a quick trip up the escalator before he was on the right floor. Yusuke’s Shadow was definitely lurking around here somewhere. All he had to do was find it.

Mementos was a funny place—all flickering shadows and ghostly wails, but Akira found he could usually tune it out well enough to detect the people he needed to. The huge portals that appeared in the walls whenever he got close to a particularly brooding Shadow definitely helped too. 

It wasn’t long before he found one he recognised. 

“Yusuke lies within,” Arsène confirmed, looking at the nexus of red and black energy. “Be careful, Akira. He is fragile right now, after all.”

“I know,” said Akira, then stepped through.

His first thought was that Yusuke really, really wasn’t doing well. His Shadow was curled in on itself, staring blankly at the floor like it held all the secrets in the world. Not a good sign to say the least. Akira carefully made his way over, trying not to startle it.

“Yusuke?” he called out, and the Shadow turned its head to look at him. Piercing yellow eyes stared into his.

“What do you want with me?” it demanded. “What sort of creature are you?”

Ah, yes, he’d forgotten the mask. He carefully lifted it, revealing his true face to the suspicious Shadow.

“It’s me, Akira, remember?” he asked. This was hardly the first time he’d spoken to Yusuke’s Shadow, after all.

The Shadow sighed, then pushed itself into a standing position. “Such a dreadful costume you wear,” it muttered. “It reminds me of a ghost.”

“I’m real enough,” said Akira, drawing a bit closer. “But what about you? Not planning to turn yourself into a ghost anytime soon I hope?”

The Shadow gave a laugh that wasn’t at all reassuring. “How can I go on like this?” it spat, its face contorting with pain. “How can I go on now that I know the depths of that man’s depravity?”

That...didn’t sound quite right.

“Has he done something else?” asked Akira. 

Yusuke’s Shadow gave another demented laugh, his hands covering his face, almost seeming to claw at it.

“Something else?” it muttered. “Something? Everything! Everything I ever understood about him was a lie!”

There was something dangerous in its tone now—something volatile in its yellow eyes. Akira couldn’t remember when he’d last seen a Shadow so beside itself that hadn’t proceeded to descend into some more monstrous form. But Yusuke’s Shadow remained stable. Just. 

“Calm down,” said Akira, acutely aware that something must be going horribly wrong in Yusuke’s psyche in real time if this was happening. “If you can just talk to me—”

“What use will talking do?” it demanded. “I’m faced with a rotten, fiendish creature that never cared for me—never cared for any of us! The only option is to—to—”

It suddenly gave a hideous howl, a sound that chilled Akira right down to his very bones, and began all at once to shift. 

At first, Akira thought it was finally mutating into a monster but instead...oh. 

This was far worse. 

Instead it seemed to be melting—collapsing in on itself as it struggled and flailed, and all the time the screaming—the terrible screaming—blood seeped from its fingertips, and it screeched and screeched until, finally, blistering light exploded from within—blinding Akira completely. 

And when he blinked his eyes open, trying desperately to see what had happened...

It was gone. 

He rushed over to where Yusuke’s Shadow had been, but there was no sign it had been there at all—no Treasure from a budding Palace, no nothing. Just...emptiness. 

The fabric of the Metaverse around him was beginning to warp and change as the creator of this pocket dimension faded, but...

“Akira you need to leave,” Arséne said, but Akira could barely hear him, even as his Persona grabbed him and began to drag him outside. 

It just...didn’t seem real. One moment he was there, then next he was...he was...

There was a sucking, popping sound as the Metaverse reconstituted itself where Yusuke’s Shadow had once been. And now he was staring at a grimy wall. No sign he had been there at all. 

He was gone. 

He had seemed to be in...such agony. Did that mean...? Could he possibly have...

Arsène hovered worriedly at his side. “He seemed to be having a breakdown just as we were talking to him. It’s possible he saw something that finally pushed him to—”

“Don’t say it,” Akira hissed, his blood pounding in his ears. “I don’t want to hear it—I don’t—”

“We can’t discount the possibility,” Arsène snapped back. “We knew he was unstable—we need to check—”

“His Shadow just vanished!” Akira roared. “We don’t need to check _anything_ —it’s obvious what happened—everyone has to have a Shadow—the _only_ way to get rid of a Shadow is to... Is to...”

Tears were running down his face, making it hard to see. He dragged his mask down to conceal it, to hide the face that had caused all this. He should have been sharper—quicker—should have tried to speak to Yusuke in person instead of going to his Shadow in the hopes of answers. And now he was...

“Akira,” said Arsène, now standing next to him properly. “If Yusuke really is...dead...he’s most likely still at Madarame’s. He’s already had at least five students commit suicide. Another, living in his own house, no less, would ruin him, especially now. We need to hurry, or the situation might become worse still.”

Akira didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to consider that Yusuke, who’d been so brilliant—had such _potential,_ if he could only have escaped—might have been snuffed out by the weight of his own despair, but... Arsène was right. If that was the case, and Yusuke was still in Madarame’s house, then...the least he could do to make up for his failure was to make sure Yusuke’s body found a safe resting place, and that the truth of his death was known. And then, after that...Madarame _would_ die. 

And Akira did not intend on granting him the painless extinguishing of life granted by the Metaverse—oh no. He would know fear in his last moments. He would know the same agony Yusuke must have felt at the moment he chose to suffer no more. He was just a flimsy old man, but Akira...Akira had more than enough time to plan out the perfect demise to such a wretched existence. 

Step one: recover Yusuke’s body.

...Madarame was going to regret ever having been born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp things have rapidly taken a turn for the worse this time...or have they?
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Discovery

**Tuesday 17th May**

There were already police cars there when he arrived. The fury that had been burning within him since watching Yusuke’s Shadow self-destruct in front of him rapidly turned to cold, soul-freezing despair. 

He’d been too late. First too late to prevent Yusuke’s death from occurring, and now too late to even grant him the dignity of an intact corpse. Madarame would not have let the police believe there was another suicide related to him—not at the height of his exhibition. He would have mangled Yusuke’s corpse, tried to make it look like an accident, or a crime and...the police would let him get away with it. Like they’d let him get away with the plagiarism, and all the other suicides. That was why Akira had to end it. Had to end _him._

Step one of the plan had failed, and _he_ had failed one of his only friends for the last time. From now on there would be no more failure. Madarame _would_ get what he deserved. And with the Metaverse on his side, then...Akira would be able to grant him the justice he was so sorely missing in the real world. 

He was already beginning to plan out what would be the most thematically appropriate death for a monster that used others like Madarame did when a voice drew him from his thoughts. 

“Oh, Akira, were you coming to visit me?”

At first, Akira didn’t fully register whose voice it was. After all, he was concentrating so intensely, but...when the voice’s owner stepped around in front of him, he could no longer ignore it. 

His heart dropped to somewhere around the level of his feet. 

“Are you alright?” asked Yusuke, peering at him with very alive-looking eyes as he looked down at him. “You’ve gone very pale.” 

Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, Akira found his hands reaching out to touch Yusuke’s face—the strange unreality of the situation not quite hitting him. But as he touched Yusuke’s skin, felt the warmth of a living, breathing being instead of the cold, dead corpse he’d been expecting, it finally dawned on him. 

Yusuke wasn’t dead. 

He was...alive? 

He was _alive?_

Yusuke reached up, clasping Akira’s hand with his own and staring at him with a very concerned expression on his face. 

“Your hands are very cold, Akira. Can you hear me? You don’t look well at all...” 

Yusuke continued, but as it so happened Akira could _not_ hear him, because he was fairly sure he was about to pass out. Buzzing had taken over his hearing, and black spots were beginning to consume his vision. This wasn’t possible. None of this was possible. He’d seen Yusuke’s Shadow disappear, seen it go screeching into the void—the only explanation could be...could be...

Thoughts escaped him as his vision blacked out, and everything seemed to fade into a consuming void of nothingness. 

When he finally came to, he found himself staring at an oddly familiar ceiling. 

“Oh, you’re awake!” cried a voice from above him, and the next moment the ceiling was replaced by the face of a still alarmingly alive-looking Yusuke. 

Part of him was stuck on the idea that all of this had to be some sort of cruel, impossible dream the universe was torturing him with, but then a warm hand pressed against his forehead, and finally he couldn’t escape what he was seeing before him. Yusuke was really, definitely alive. Not hanging from the ceiling. Not lying cold on the floor. Alive. Somehow.

“You’re still so cold,” Yusuke said, his voice oddly shaky. “I wanted to call your parents but I’m afraid I don’t know their phone numbers. Are you alright, Akira? Did you hit your head? Madarame’s already had a look at you, but he said it would be best just to ask why you passed out when you woke up.”

Akira shot upright as the full gravity of the situation hit him. He was in Madarame’s house? He’d checked on him while he was unconscious? Already his vision was beginning to cloud with red at the idea that that monstrous piece of shit had had the audacity to pretend to care about him when Yusuke was right there—but...but. He needed to calm down. The worst had not yet come to pass. Yusuke was still alive (even though his Shadow was absolutely dead—how was that possible?) so he had no reason to go straight for Madarame’s head. Yet. 

He became vaguely aware Yusuke was grasping him tightly by the shoulders. 

“Akira, I really don’t think you should be getting up that fast—you’re clearly sick, and—”

“It’s okay,” said Akira hoarsely, finally calm enough to speak again. “I’m...okay.”

Yusuke didn’t seem convinced, and Akira couldn’t really blame him—after all, from his point of view it must have seemed like Akira had just been spacing out in front of his house, looked at him like he’d seen a ghost and then passed out. No wonder he was worried. 

Akira reached up and gently removed Yusuke’s hands from his shoulders, swinging his legs over the side of the couch to sit up properly. “I’m sorry for freaking you out, I’ve just...had a very difficult day.” A twinge of pain shot through his foot, almost as if to remind him exactly how difficult things were. “It’s nothing, really.”

“Are you sure?” asked Yusuke. “If you’re sick then you should rest at home—you were so cold when I carried you in I was worried that you’d...” 

Died? How ironic. More importantly though, Yusuke had _carried_ him in? He hoped no one he knew had seen it. He’d never live it down if it got back to Futaba. But that was beside the point—he had more important things to worry about.

“Hey, Yusuke, did anything...happen today?” he asked, trying to sound as unsuspicious as possible, but acutely aware he was probably failing. 

“Happen?” asked Yusuke. “How do you mean?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Akira, quickly brandishing a nervous smile. “I just had this...strange sense something terrible was going to happen, if you know what I mean?”

“Ah, is that why you came here?” asked Yusuke. 

“Sort of,” said Akira. “When I saw you it shocked me so much I just...got overwhelmed, I suppose.” 

“You thought something bad had happened to me?” asked Yusuke, his eyes widening. 

“Yes it was like...some kind of nightmare, I suppose,” said Akira, desperately hoping Yusuke would buy his explanation. “I was so sure you were...”

He could feel his throat choking up at the memory—Yusuke’s Shadow screaming at him, descending into dust... Tears were pricking his eyes. Dammit—he had no reason to cry! Yusuke was clearly alive so...why couldn’t he keep it together? He wiped furiously at his eyes, trying to blink back the tears that were threatening to overwhelm him. 

“Akira...” muttered Yusuke. 

He sounded so depressed. Ugh—Akira was supposed to be helping him, not the other way around! He’d really screwed this all up, hadn’t he?

But the next moment thin arms were wrapping around him, as Yusuke pulled him into a tight hug. Akira returned it almost unconsciously—it was...so strange—Yusuke was still breathing and yet...he was defying Akira’s very understanding of the nature of how Shadows worked. But perhaps now wasn’t the time to linger on that. Yusuke was still alive—that was all that mattered. He wasn’t too late to save him. Not yet.

He was still shaking slightly as Yusuke released him, staring at him with anxious eyes. 

“Thank you,” whispered Akira, as loudly as his sore throat would allow. “I don’t know why I got it into my head but...it all just seemed...so real.”

“I understand,” said Yusuke. He didn’t, not fully but...Akira could appreciate the effort he was clearly putting in. “It’s difficult when such disturbing thoughts consume you. But I am alright. And nothing bad’s happened. I promise.” 

He didn’t seem to be lying. 

Akira was beginning to get a twitching ache in the centre of his skull which indicated the start of what would surely be the worst headache he’d had in a long time. Perhaps...he’d had enough of this today. Between discovering the doors in Mementos were beginning to open and freaking out that Yusuke might be dead, all of his energy seemed to have been spent. 

“I need to go home,” he said tiredly, forcing himself to get up from the couch. “I think I just need to...rest for a bit. I’ve been too stressed out lately.”

“You shouldn’t push yourself so hard, Akira,” said Yusuke, supporting him as he struggled to keep his balance. “You’re going to make yourself very ill if you don’t take enough breaks, you know.”

Strong words from the boy who spent so long absorbed in his art projects he forgot to eat but...Akira knew what he was getting at.

“I appreciate the concern,” he said. “But I’ll get back home okay, I promise.”

“Are you sure?” asked Yusuke, doubtfully. 

“One hundred percent,” said Akira. “I always keep my promises.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” said Yusuke, smiling. “Let me walk you to the train station, at least—I don’t want you collapsing on your way home, after all.”

* * *

Akira wasn’t sure how long he spent asleep after he got home and all but collapsed onto his bed. All he knew was that one minute he’d been lying flat on his back with the sun still filtering through his windows, the next he awoke to moonlight creating a bright patch on the floor. 

His head felt a little like it was about to explode. 

He closed his eyes, and the pain diminished slightly as he tried to put together all that had happened. Firstly, the Metaverse interlopers had managed to get at least one door open in Mementos. That did not bode well in any sense—even if, thinking about it—they might have just done it because they didn’t possess the same meta-reality-warping powers Akira did, rather than outright malice. 

_That would certainly make the most sense,_ Arsène agreed. 

Secondly, Yusuke’s Shadow had exploded right in front of him in fiery agony, but Yusuke himself seemed to be fine. It was true that shutdowns where Shadows were destroyed could sometimes take a little while to take effect, but given the Shadow seemed to have extinguished itself, it didn’t really make sense that nothing seemed to have happened to Yusuke to cause it. 

And Akira had been so sure he was dead—when he came up to the house and saw all those police cars...

Wait...what? 

Why had there been police cars outside Madarame’s house? 

He quickly unlocked his phone and navigated to Yusuke’s contact number. 

_Akira Kurusu: Hi Yusuke_

_Akira Kurusu: Are you still awake?_

_Yusuke Kitagawa: Yes, I am._

_Yusuke Kitagawa: Is everything alright?_

_Akira Kurusu: I would have brought it up while I was still at your house, but I was totally out of it, so—why were there police cars outside your house when I was waiting outside?_

_Akira Kurusu: Ngl, it really didn’t help the whole ‘something terrible’s happened’ vibe I was getting._

_Yusuke Kitagawa: Ah. You remember that?_

_Akira Kurusu: Vividly._

_Yusuke Kitagawa: Madarame believed we had some trespassers in the house and called the police._

Trespassers? Didn’t a man like Madarame have decent security? But perhaps not in that particular house... And even besides that, Yusuke’s choice of words was interesting.

_Akira Kurusu: Believed?_

_Yusuke Kitagawa: It turns out he was incorrect._

Now that was definitely strange.

_Akira Kurusu: Oh dear. Seems I’m not the only one having paranoid superstitions today!_

_Yusuke Kitagawa: Apparently not, no. Are you alright, Akira? Did you manage to get home safely?_

_Akira Kurusu: I’m fine. Though I admit I crashed for about three hours after I got back. Also I have a terrible headache._

_Yusuke Kitagawa: You should go to sleep!_

_Yusuke Kitagawa: It will do no one any good if you get sick from all this._

_Akira Kurusu: Okay Mom._

_Yusuke Kitagawa: I wish I had your mother’s phone number. Then I could inform her how ridiculous you’re being._

Akira was pretty sure his actual mother couldn’t give less of a damn about how ridiculous he was being, but fortunately, he’d deleted her number off his phone some time ago, so Yusuke couldn’t have it even if he trawled Akira’s phone for it. 

_Akira Kurusu: I’m fine, Yusuke, don’t worry about me._

_Akira Kurusu: I’ll see you in class tomorrow._

_Yusuke Kitagawa: You had best be there, Akira._

_Yusuke Kitagawa: I’ll be very displeased if you aren’t._

_Akira Kurusu: Hey, I told you—I never break my promises._

_Yusuke Kitagawa: See you tomorrow, Akira._

_Akira Kurusu: See you, Yusuke._

He clicked his phone off and groggily got up to change into his pyjamas, Arsène hovering meaningful nearby all the while. 

Once he was changed he settled back into his bed, and laid back, closing his eyes before thinking, _Well then, what do you think we should do?_

Arsène, clearly waiting for acknowledgement, quickly responded.

_Our utmost priority must be focusing on these Metaverse interlopers. We need to discover their identity as soon as possible._

_You think they’re involved in what happened to Yusuke’s Shadow, right?_

_We do,_ said Arsène tetchily. 

_Think they’re the ones who broke into Madarame’s house?_

_I see no reason to doubt it. They’re clearly reckless in the extreme, and they don’t seem to fully comprehend what they’re doing. Certainly it seems more likely that it was they who broke in, rather than some random thief._

_And Yusuke’s protecting them..._

_Certainly he seems reluctant to reveal the full extent of his connection to them._

_So, we break into the Palace again tomorrow?_

_Yes. We should hide somewhere above the courtyard halfway through. If they have any hopes of stealing the Treasure they must pass through there._

_Sounds like a plan._

It would be tiring, and he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t a little hurt by the fact Yusuke seemed to be so reluctant to tell him about them, but he surely had his reasons. At the moment, uncovering their true identities was the top priority. And he would do it. For Yusuke’s sake, if nothing else.

* * *

**Wednesday 18th May**

Akira had been waiting for almost an hour now. Of course, he’d rushed into the Palace right after school to make sure he’d catch them, but they still seemed to be going abnormally slowly...if indeed they’d come in at all. Akira was prepared to wait—he spent so much of his time waiting—but he was beginning to wish he’d been a little more prepared for this exercise in boredom. 

He’d perched himself in one of the high windows, looking down on the courtyard (now apparently open, so it seemed these interlopers weren’t entirely useless) from such a position that he’d be very hard to spot from the ground, even if these fools were looking for him. Besides, with his mask he looked enough like the guards patrolling that it wouldn’t be immediately obvious what exactly he was anyway. 

He’d brought binoculars, a small, but incredibly useful camera, and even a hefty sniper rifle (if he needed it), but crosswords? A phone game (not that it’d work in here anyway)? God, even homework? No, nothing. All he had to do to kill time was fiddle about with the settings on his rifle, and daydream about one-shotting all the guards on the floor below. Oh and maybe some light photography. ...Not that he particularly wanted any reminders of Madarame’s Palace on hand at any given moment. 

Yusuke had been acting a little more normally at school that day—though Akira suspected it was more out of concern for him rather than because Yusuke was actually feeling better. 

And he definitely wasn’t dead, so that was something too. 

But what else other than death could cause a Shadow to disappear like that? It just didn’t make sense—everyone had a Shadow—some were unreachable, thanks to being locked up in the depths, but Akira had _seen_ how Shadows went down to the depths, and it wasn’t by exploding like Yusuke’s had. So why had it undergone such a dramatic change? There had to be a reason but what...what could it be...?

Something flickered at the edges of his vision. 

His attention was back on the courtyard in a flash, his binoculars already pressed to his mask to observe what was happening below. 

Adjusting the focus of his binoculars, Akira observed five figures emerge from the corridor leading up to the courtyard. Three men, one woman and a...cat-like creature. How odd. It wasn’t a Persona, that much was obvious but...it definitely wasn’t human. 

So these were the people who’d been hiding right under his nose. 

He zoomed the binoculars in a bit more, trying to get a better focus on what they looked like. They were all in what appeared to be their own Metaverse outfits—but that was strange—after all, he hadn’t gotten one until...until...

_No wonder they’ve been getting through the Metaverse relatively easily,_ said Arsène.

They had Personas. 

Of course—it was the only way—any normal human would be immensely encumbered by trying to get through a Palace without one but...for some reason it just hadn’t occurred to him. Perhaps because it was so long ago that he awoke to his own—and that he now had so many but...he’d completely forgotten that they might have been able to awaken a similar power within their own souls. 

He looked closer, trying to identify clear features beneath the costumes. The cat was...well, a cat—pretty much useless trying to guess what it might look like in the real world (if it could exist there at all), but the others had clearer profiles. The girl in particular stood out, with huge blonde pigtails that could be spotted in almost any crowd—he was willing to bet there weren’t many students at Shujin that looked like her. Then there were the boys—the one seeming to lead the group was fairly average in height, with longish brown hair, tied back in a pigtail—not particularly remarkable-looking, but if he was friends with the girl people would be able to identify him. The other boy was a little short, with a shock of short blond hair, and a slightly stockier, more muscular build than the leader. People would certainly recognise him.

And behind them, in fact, somewhat concealed—trailing behind the rest of the group, was another boy. He was the tallest member by far, and quite thin, his mask hiding so much of his face that at first Akira didn’t fully recognise him. But when he stepped into the courtyard—and indeed—when they all began to speak loudly enough that he could hear them—the boy’s identity became unmistakable.

That was Yusuke. 

Akira nearly dropped his binoculars in shock at the sight of him in the Metaverse—in Madarame’s Palace, no less. He’d suspected maybe the interlopers had _told_ him of the Metaverse—but not _brought_ him to it. 

No, no, no, no, _no!_ That _couldn’t_ be right! Yusuke would never work for the creature—not knowing what it could do—not with him already being so crushed under the heel of Madarame’s abuse. So, did that mean...? 

_The fact these people have managed to obtain Personas at all suggests they probably aren’t working for it,_ pointed out Arsène, ever tapped-in to the logical part of his mind. _They’re stronger than we thought._

They were certainly much more _trouble_ than he’d thought, getting Yusuke of all people involved in their schemes. But how had they met him? Learnt about Madarame? Were they helping him, or blackmailing him? 

_Quickly now, they’re moving on. Take your pictures and follow them._

Akira quickly reached for his camera, zooming in and snapping away, trying his best to get a clear shot of every face in the group. A phone camera simply wouldn’t work in the Metaverse, and even a normal camera like his couldn’t develop these photos in the real world, but...as long as he kept it safe and sound within this world, he’d have a good record of their faces. And it seemed he needed one with the trouble they were liable to cause. 

He slipped the camera away and strapped the rifle to his back, quickly pursuing them as they commenced through the building. 

They were down on the first floor—but Akira had this place memorised by now. A few convenient vents and a tiny bit of Metaverse manipulation later, he was hovering just above where they were walking through the corridors, finally able to listen to their conversation. At which point he had another nasty realisation. There was someone _else_ in this group he recognised. 

“Don’t be foolish, Skull, of course it’s this way. This is the only way to get further into the building.”

The clipped tone was very different to the one Akira was used to hearing on TV, but there was no mistaking it: that was the voice of Goro Akechi. 

So. Seemed he’d been wrong about the celebrity’s involvement with this—but then, he was a detective. It wasn’t unthinkable he might have noticed what the other two were doing—or indeed, stumbled upon the Metaverse himself. So now he had two out of five. Well, four, if you didn’t count the cat-creature. 

Truthfully, it was the people he _didn’t_ know that were the real trouble—it seemed they’d taken to using code-names, so identifying them would be more difficult. Which was a pain because Akira suspected that they were the true instigators of this little group—the original victims of Kamoshida. And the most likely to have made some sort of deal with the creature. 

Well, he had the photos now—knew their faces. Technically that was most of the information he needed, but...it couldn’t hurt to stick around a little while longer, right? After all, he wanted to know why Yusuke was here—why he would join such people... 

“So, once you steal this ‘Treasure’, Madarame will be a changed man?” asked Yusuke, almost as if he’d heard Akira’s thoughts. “He’ll no longer plagiarise from his students?”

“Nope!” said the girl, cheerily. “Well, not if what happened to Kamoshida is anything to go by.”

“Yeah, once he loses his desires, he’ll most likely confess to everything he’s done out of guilt,” said the little cat creature. “And he’ll definitely stop plagiarising.”

“I must say, this is a very strange world,” said Yusuke, peering around the hallway and making Akira shrink back instinctively. “To think this odd landscape has been within his mind all along...”

“What do you think of it?” asked Akechi. “Do you see the truth of how your so-called mentor treated you now?”

Yusuke paused before answering, and Akira could tell that though Akechi had been trying to be helpful, Yusuke had not taken it well. 

“I can, thank you,” he said stiffly, then lapsed into silence.

Hmm. Seemed the group dynamic was still a bit rocky. It was possible Yusuke was quite new to this...in fact...

_We Personas are connected to Shadows, you know,_ said Arsène. _Certainly you no longer have one. _

Yes, that much was indisputable fact, given the circumstances...

_Is it not possible that the moment we witnessed yesterday was not, in fact, the death of a Shadow, but its transformation into a Persona?_

That...would certainly make the most sense. For one thing it would explain why Yusuke appeared to be alive and functional despite the lack of a Shadow—and why the Shadow itself had disappeared. Personas were more in-tune with their owners, after all.

“So then, onwards and upwards, right?” said the boy called Skull, awkwardly breaking the silence.

“For better or for worse,” Yusuke agreed.

_I think we’ve obtained all the information we need to,_ said Arsène. _For now, let us retreat somewhere more convenient, and plan out our next move._

It was a jolt to leave Yusuke with these strangers but...he did have a Persona now. He could surely take care of himself. And Akira had a lot to think about. It was time to go somewhere a little more peaceful—somewhere he wouldn’t be disturbed by the general hustle and bustle. 

It was time to go home.

Or...sort of home, anyway.

* * *

One of the many good qualities of the Metaverse was that it was quiet. Far quieter than the world inhabited by humanity, with cars racing by outside, people talking, the endless hum of technology. 

It was more like his hometown, in that respect. Not that he’d ever call life in his hometown superior to that he had in Tokyo—perish the thought, but—he found he missed the quiet, sometimes. But the Metaverse was always quiet. And it was for that reason that that was where Akira tended to do most of his planning. 

The Leblanc’s attic had changed in the time he’d spent living there—both in the real world and in here. His real bedroom was now clean, nicely decorated, and perfectly presentable for a teenager. His bedroom in the Metaverse was...how to put it? More like a kind of elaborate lair—his headquarters—if he could be bothered to have such a thing. 

And in it was everything he could possibly need for his little hobby. 

Sheaves upon sheaves of paper lined his shelves; of newspaper clippings, court records, his files on the people and places he knew—he’d built it all up over time—when he first started out in the Metaverse back in his hometown, the best he could do was render someone clumsily comatose. Nowadays he could brainwash people, collapse them, kill them—he could track down Shadows in Mementos, break through most Palaces with ease—and he kept meticulous records of the people he investigated who needed help. If ever he needed to recall one of his many victims or beneficiaries, they were all hidden somewhere on the shelf. 

Yusuke had a file too, of course, one which, until now had been somewhat incomplete. But now... Now things had gotten a lot more complicated. 

He sighed and drew out several new files for this latest development. The Metaverse Interlopers. What a pain.

Yusuke had only joined recently—perhaps only yesterday, if Akira’s suspicions were right—but the others had undoubtedly been the ones to have caused Kamoshida’s breakdown. So far the only thing he really knew about them was that they seemed dead-set on brainwashing rather than killing their targets. How the hell they’d worked out how to do it though...

Then again, the answer might lie in their mysterious fifth member—the cat creature he’d observed with them in the Palace. It seemed just as sentient and knowledgeable as the rest of them, but it couldn’t be more obvious it was some sort of creature of the Metaverse. Perhaps it had told them...but how would even it know? He’d never met a Shadow sentient enough to try and take out a Palace before—most of them got sucked into the Ruler’s fantasies, but... Hmm. That was clearly something he needed to investigate further.

For now though, his best lead might be that he knew Goro Akechi was involved somehow. Yusuke wasn’t going to spill anything on the Metaverse of his own accord, and really, Akira could hardly blame him, given he’d been hiding his own presence there for the better part of two years. But Akechi...he had some ulterior motive—had to, given his position. He almost certainly wasn’t a victim of Kamoshida, and even besides that, his job was that of a detective—so it seemed very odd that he appeared to be just fine with endorsing—even _leading_ this vigilante justice. Perhaps he realised the police were corrupt, but if that were the case why not just quit? Questions upon questions—but most importantly for Akira, as a minor celebrity, Akechi would be the easiest to keep tabs on without drawing unwanted attention. 

One thing was for certain though—he had to make sure they dealt with Madarame’s Palace correctly. He couldn’t go this far only to have it all fall apart thanks to the reckless whims of some teens who didn’t fully understand what they were doing. And if they couldn’t deal with Madarame themselves, well then...he’d just have to take matters into his own hands, wouldn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, the PTs have finally been sighted in their entirety! Whether or not Akira will actually be able to meet them in person for a while though...that's another matter. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	9. Storm Clouds

Yusuke seemed...happier, at school after Akira had made his discovery. His former melancholy still came back in shades, and every now and then Akira would catch him staring out the window in a sad, contemplative sort of way—but the moment he realised he was being watched he’d quickly shrug it off and become his usual, focused self again. He readily engaged Akira in conversation, no longer seemed to be shrinking and collapsing in on himself. 

It was killing Akira inside.

Because this was...what he wanted, right? He wanted Yusuke to be happy—wanted him to escape Madarame’s claws. And by all rights he seemed to have done that. By awakening his Persona and entering Madarame’s Palace, he’d finally have the ability to take charge and change his fate all by himself. No longer was he the helpless victim—no longer did he have to fear the days to come. He was, for all intents and purposes, exactly where Akira had been trying to help get him to. 

And Akira should be happy. He should. 

But he wasn’t.

It was probably his own unique brand of arrogance that let him think so, that let him bristle at the fact that others had discovered the Metaverse, that insisted to him that they were too stupid, too naïve to ever figure it out like he had, but... He did. He hated it. Hated how much he despised his friend’s new growth, hated how it boiled and burnt his insides, but...

How could he be sure? 

The creature’s presence seemed to linger in the air around him, dyeing the world in unnatural shades of blue, weighing on Akira’s mind until he felt he would surely collapse under the strain... But it didn’t talk. Just waited. Surely they all knew of the creature by now? Surely it would have made itself known to them? But there was no sign on Yusuke’s face that he lived in terror of the creature that lurked beneath Tokyo—no sign that he might be aware he was unleashing some unknowable evil on the world. No sign at all. 

But one door was open already. How long until it became two, or three, or four? He couldn’t let the creature out. He couldn’t let it impose its vile whims on all humanity. 

He wanted to curse it—to scream—to yell. How was this fair? He’d been content for so long now. Why was this happening? Why were these people here? How had they discovered the Metaverse? Why had they involved Yusuke? 

Why why why why why? 

Why couldn’t it just leave him alone? 

…

When he returned home that night, he felt it. Lurking in the air. Aching like a stab wound to his chest. Tonight it would talk. 

And as usual, it made him wait up late—already winning the upper hand in the conversation by exploiting Akira’s woefully fragile human biology, and making sure it only spoke to him when he was already angry and exhausted. Akira understood why it did it. Unfortunately, that did little to shield him from its manipulations. 

The blue light hovered over the floor, and hundreds of snake-like voices hissed in unison. 

_Are you tired, Akira?_

The air left his lungs in a rush as the creature said his name, like it was placing some kind of curse on him by acknowledging him personally. He sometimes wondered if it could suffocate him just by that alone.

“Exhausted,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “So tired you wouldn’t even comprehend it—in fact, I think I could go on an hour-long soliloquy purely on how tired I am. It would begin like this—”

 _There will no need for that,_ said the creature, already annoyed. Good. It deserved a taste of its own medicine. _You have finally discovered the others to whom we have extended our gift, correct?_

The creature seemed to control initial access to the Metaverse—or at least, that’s what it had told Akira when he first arrived. At first he’d felt honoured. Nowadays it just made him feel sick. 

“Finally gathered enough energy to let someone else in, huh?” 

_More than just one._

More than just one was right, but... “Why so many? Why not just keep it to one person, like you did with me?”

The light flickered, and Akira got the impression the creature was laughing at him.

 _Why keep it to so few?_ it replied nastily. _After all, it hardly benefits us to have another shy creature like yourself using our gift. With so many people and personalities at play, their notoriety will become unavoidable._

This wasn’t the first time the creature had complained about Akira’s preference for keeping his talents a secret—really though, it shouldn’t be that surprising—he would be mercilessly hunted as one of the most dangerous criminals on the planet if he ever revealed himself. But he had a feeling it had something to do with the doors keeping the creature trapped. It always urged him to go public, to let society fear him—as though that would somehow benefit it too. So if these interlopers were unavoidably gathering fame due to their exploits...

“But how could you possibly guarantee that people will come to know about them?” Akira asked cautiously. “There’s no reason people should think these incidents are any different to the ones I’ve been causing, and no one’s ever linked them with some special power.”

The light flickered brighter for a moment. Akira sensed a supernatural grin baring down on him.

_You forget these children do not have the advantages you so arrogantly claim. They cannot be so subtle in their actions. It is impossible, if they want to achieve their goals._

What on earth did that mean? That they couldn’t avoid going public if they wanted to cause a shutdown? But that didn’t make sense—everything could be done within the Metaverse, even in misshapen Palaces like Shido’s...

 _Their naïvety blinds them to the nature of that world,_ the creature crowed gleefully. _And even if they had entered unaided, they have not half of your potential._ The light dimmed slightly, and the voice took on a melancholy tone. _Truly it was a mistake to allow such a creature as you into the Metaverse with no guiding influence, but we suppose it can no longer be helped. It is a truth undeniable that the world has far more to fear from idiots than experts. And now there’s nothing you can do._

There was a mocking, spiteful quality to that last statement that Akira didn’t like at all. 

“Of course I can,” said Akira, sharply. “I practically know half the people you’ve chosen already.”

 _Ah,_ said the creature, with a bemused, mocking tone, _but that is the very thing that will stop you._

And with that ominous statement it flickered and vanished into thin air.

Akira felt like someone was trying to drive rusty screws into his temples. 

“I hate that thing,” he spat, massaging his forehead. “Hate it.”

Arsène’s ghostly presence hovered not far from him—re-manifesting in the absence of the creature.

 _I don’t like the implications either,_ he said pensively. _It seems these amateurs’ lack of experience will be their undoing._

“ _Our_ undoing, more like,” grumbled Akira, sitting up straight. “It doesn’t help that they seem to insist on brainwashing people. That’s difficult enough as it is, without beginners messing about with it.”

 _There is one thing we have yet to discover about them,_ mused Arsène. _How they are getting the Rulers to manifest their Treasures. I think we can deduce from the creature’s comments that they do not possess your powers of intervention._

“You’re right,” said Akira, quietly. “If they have to rely on interacting with the Ruler in person...that could be very serious.”

 _We must watch and wait,_ said Arsène, quietly. _And when we discover what it is they are doing...then we will attempt damage control._

It was easy for him to say that, but depending on what the interlopers were doing it could turn out to be quite serious... But he couldn’t worry about that for now. For now, he just needed to sleep. 

But as he laid down in bed that night, he found sleep didn’t come easily at all.

* * *

**Sunday 22nd May**

It had taken them much too long to finally reach the Treasure. Akira had been in that Palace almost every single day, waiting for them to show up, but their schedule for dealing with it seemed to be almost entirely random. Just another reason that whenever Goro Akechi’s miserable face appeared on TV Akira now found himself glaring at it with ill-disguised loathing. Already a celebrity and now he had the arrogance to try and brainwash people too? The nerve. 

It didn’t help that Akira’s continuous monitoring of the Palace meant that he had been forced to pick up near continuous evening-shifts, which made him even more tired and cranky than usual. Usually he tried to avoid working (or indeed, doing anything) after spending time in the Metaverse, but he was falling behind on rent, and he knew Sojiro well enough to guess he wouldn’t give Akira any respite unless he came up with a very good explanation. And somehow he didn’t think ‘making sure my best friend’s new, stupid friends don’t accidentally kill his abusive father-figure’ was going to cut it. 

But today seemed to be the day. 

Or at least, Akira very much assumed it was the day. 

The day before, on Saturday, they’d come in and finally cracked the route to the Treasure. They’d quickly departed, and Akira had managed to catch the cat-creature muttering something about a ‘calling card’ as it left, but he had no clue as to what that might be. To steal a Treasure, the Palace Ruler (the real one, mind you, not their conceited Shadow) had to be made aware of both its existence and the fact it might be stolen—but none of the interlopers appeared to possess the power to manipulate Shadows in the fashion he could, so Akira was at a loss as to what they were going to do. After all, unless they were planning to tell Madarame about the Metaverse in-person, there was really nothing they could do.

So he was waiting. Again. 

He felt he’d been waiting so long now he could probably make a sport out of it. Nothing seemed to be obviously wrong, it had to be said—usually by now the Palace security level would have been raised and lowered several times, thanks to their amateur blundering. But nothing was happening. Yet. 

Then, almost as if some malevolent god had been listening in on his thoughts, something _did_ happen.

And honestly, it happened so quickly Akira wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that one of them _had_ told Madarame about the Metaverse. 

One second Palace security was milling about, happy as Larry, content in the fact their Ruler appeared to be safe from all threats, the next...the next, things went sort of insane. Like someone had blown up the lower floor and announced their intentions to put Madarame’s head on a pike outside the ruins of the museum or something. Guards started manifesting everywhere—half the secret passages Akira had been using to get around closed off simultaneously, and the echoing boom of Madarame’s voice bellowed from somewhere above—

“It’s those damn brats’ doing, isn’t it? Well it means nothing... They’ll only be able to do as they please until this exhibit is over...” 

Huh. It didn’t _seem_ like they’d told him, but...he was definitely aware they were coming for the Treasure. How strange. 

But more important than that—they definitely weren’t in _here_ —which was just as well for them, because even Akira would have trouble trying to get out under this level of security. 

Or, he would have, if he didn’t have his little trick up his sleeve. 

A few seconds later he was back out on the street near where Madarame lived, already beginning to feel the dreaded Metaverse-energy-drain sink into his limbs as he leant against a wall. What a pain. 

Well, he’d discovered one thing, at least—that whatever it was they did to cause the Treasure to manifest, they did it outside the Metaverse, and that it raised the Palace security level horrifically. Which he supposed probably made sense—it was just that whenever _he_ did it he tended to be too close to the Treasure already to really notice. And he could get out wherever he wanted without the hassle of trying to return to the entry point of the Palace. That helped too. These interlopers must be strong runners if they managed to get all the way back to the start of the Palace without it collapsing on them as they exited. 

...Then again, it _was_ the Metaverse. It wasn’t like they’d actually _die_ from a stray piece of rubble in there. 

Again the word ‘reckless’ sprang to mind. Oh, why did Yusuke have to get involved with such a bunch of fools? Akira could have handled this perfectly well himself, without these hopeless beginners interfering but...there was nothing to be done now. He just had to handle it. Somehow. 

One thing was for certain though—the interlopers would have to move quickly if they wanted to take advantage of Madarame’s confusion—which meant they had to be going in on Monday. 

So it was tomorrow. 

The day Madarame’s Palace would finally collapse for good.

* * *

**Monday 23rd May**

Wakaba was waiting for him in the café that morning. 

“Hi,” said Akira, dodging around the counter to sweep his lunch out of the fridge. “It’s unusual to see you here this early.”

Sojiro was notably absent, in fact. Maybe he’d asked her to help him set up?

“How’s your foot?” she asked, ignoring his preamble.

“On the mend. I’ve been taking my medicine.”

“Can you run on it yet?” 

There was a sharp edge to her tone as she said it, as though she was already well aware of him testing that boundary to its limit. Well. She always had been the smart one.

“Almost,” he said, deciding to hedge it. She’d know the truth either way. And besides, he didn’t want to hint too much with Futaba’s bugs still dotted around. 

“Will you be up for the project I asked you to work on?” she asked, obviously aware they were being monitored too. 

“I will,” he said. “By the end of the week.”

Every Friday after school—when he wasn’t injured. That was the arrangement. 

“Good. You should hurry along—you’ll miss your train.”

“I will.”

Another thing he needed to plan for. But for now, he needed to make sure Madarame was dealt with. Then he could see to Shido. 

* * *

Akira watched from the shadows as they powered down the lights and the cat (Mona, he’d learnt) was winched down to steal the Treasure from above. A bit of an amateur attempt, particularly since Akira was fairly sure Madarame would have removed the Treasure from that very obvious hiding place after yesterday, but...that _was_ the whole reason he was following them, after all. And if worst came to worst, he would be able to deal with Madarame regardless.

The thieves quickly hurried out via the roof, and Akira stealthily followed them, careful to remain concealed as he tracked them down to the courtyard, where, as he’d predicted, Madarame’s Shadow was waiting. It did not seem pleased. 

Akira couldn’t quite hear what the Shadow was saying from where he was perched on the roof, but it appeared to be provoking a fair bit of outrage. They didn’t have time for this though—they needed to defeat the Shadow and steal the Treasure as soon as possible if they wanted to make it out intact... 

The exchange appeared to be getting more heated. The Shadow itself was getting annoyed now, beginning to deform—good, then there would still be a chance they could end it cleanly. 

Then, finally, the true form of Madarame’s monstrous heart appeared—contorted pictures hanging in the air, hovering over the group menacingly.

Akira watched the group carefully as they coordinated their attack on the Shadow. He’d deduced by now that each of them only possessed one Persona—with the exception of Akechi, who appeared to share his talent for collecting them—with different specialities and weaknesses in turn. Akechi seemed to have _some_ proficiency in leading the group, trying to make sure they hit the right weaknesses and that no one got knocked down in turn, but with such a large number of pieces to arrange in the fight, he still slipped up now and then. Still. They didn’t seem to be actually _losing_. 

The number of people was a hassle to arrange, to be sure, but the fact they all had such differing and unique abilities made it nigh on impossible for Madarame to knock them all down at once. So it seemed they had strength in numbers. That would be something Akira needed to watch out for. 

It didn’t take too long for Madarame to be defeated, fading back to his Shadow self, with Yusuke retrieving the real Treasure that arrived in his place—as he rightfully should. 

Akira quickly made his escape once he saw the Treasure safely in their arms—if they died now it was down to sheer incompetence. 

He wasn’t sure how to feel as he appeared back in the real world. It seemed he’d somewhat underestimated their strength as a group. But then, it wasn’t like Madarame’s Palace was actually particularly lethal—the only reason he’d waited so long before acting was that he wanted to make sure Yusuke didn’t find himself too much at a loss without his mentor. And with Yusuke as a part of their group, that wasn’t a problem. 

But there was _a_ problem. 

For all he wanted to be happy, for all he wanted to celebrate the fact Yusuke would be alright, this group _was_ a problem to him. Sure, it was possible one of them had met Yusuke on accident and decided to help with their newfound powers. That was the most likely explanation. But there was also a more than significant chance they had actually been _looking_ for another Palace. And if they were looking for Palaces...that put Akira in significant danger. 

Maybe they would be too stupid to link his own mental shutdowns and incidents of brainwashing with another Metaverse user, but somehow...somehow he doubted it. Especially with that cat on the team. It, at the very least, seemed to have a fairly comprehensive knowledge of how the Metaverse worked. It would be no trouble for such a creature to work out what exactly was going on in the wider Metaverse if it actually cared to investigate. 

And even besides the personal danger, there was existential danger too. Conscious of it or not, these people were helping the creature that lived in the depths of Mementos. The creature that, if released, might actually end up destroying the world as they knew it. 

That, more than anything else, rankled in Akira’s mind.

But there could be no confrontation—that was the frustrating part. He couldn’t simply ask Yusuke who his new, mysterious Metaverse friends were. Even if he did, he couldn’t ask them about the issue directly. He _could_ take a massive risk and appear to them in the Metaverse itself, if worst came to worst—his mask would easily conceal his identity even in close quarters but...well, they simply had no reason to listen to him, did they? And they’d pretty quickly work out he was the one causing chaos across Tokyo with various shutdowns—something he very much suspected wouldn’t endear him to them any further. 

So what to do? 

He felt...stuck. It was a dreadful feeling, and worse, an...unfamiliar feeling. Since gaining access to the Metaverse two years ago, he could count on his hands the number of times he felt actually, genuinely stuck. But now...there didn’t seem to be anything he could do. Well, short of outright murder, anyway, but that was a bit extreme, even for him. 

But it wasn’t like he could just _leave_ them—they could _destroy the world!_ By _accident!_

A sensation similar to what he imagined sticking his hand in a pot of boiling water would feel like was beginning to start up in the front of his skull. 

He really didn’t want to have to traipse into the Metaverse again after all that, but...it seemed he had some planning to do.

* * *

About ten double sides of A4 into trying to brainstorm ideas on how to deal with the interlopers, he’d given up on the conceit of negotiation and had instead lapsed into the vastly more satisfying exercise of fantasising about how to kill off all these new irritants in one fell swoop, with the authorities being none the wiser. Excluding Yusuke, obviously.

“I imagine you’d still end up with considerable collateral,” said Arsène, peering over Akira’s shoulder at his outline of how he would strategically place bombs all over Shujin Academy to conveniently target his least-favourite teenagers. 

“Only if these people have other friends,” said Akira, shading in the dust clouds of the illustrated explosion. “Which I very much doubt.” 

“You might just have to accept having to wait and see.”

“Nonsense,” growled Akira, gripping his pencil a bit tighter. “There has to be _something_ I can do.”

Akira very much disliked having to wait and see. Waiting and seeing was one of the worst ways to spend your time, in his opinion. Especially when you didn’t already have a plan in place to deal with whatever ‘waiting and seeing’ might do. 

“At the very least, we should focus for now on dealing with Shido’s Palace. It’s extraordinarily unlikely they’ll unleash the creature before this Friday. If nothing has happened by then, then we can think again.”

Arsène was right—which wasn’t surprising, since he was only an extension of Akira’s own consciousness, but... Ugh. He really hated this. 

“Fine,” grumbled Akira, reluctantly shelving his elaborate murder plans. “We’ll prepare for Friday. And if anything else happens...”

“Then we’ll deal with it,” said Arsène. “We always do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akira's really not taking other people knowing about the Metaverse well, is he? Then again, having a God constantly harassing you about it probably doesn't help. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	10. A Meeting

**Wednesday 25th May**

As it turned out, he didn’t have to ‘wait and see’ for long at all. 

He’d been busy—he could no longer expect to get by in Shido’s Palace on his usual talent alone, and he needed to plan for minor injuries at the very least. As a result he’d picked up even more shifts, and had used his extra money to obtain what was probably about three first-aid kits worth of healing supplies. 

Wakaba had been keeping a close eye on him, and he could sense her increasing nervousness as they got closer and closer to the date of their next heist. 

But surprisingly, the first unusual development of that week was not to do with Shido. It was during lunch, when Yusuke sat down next to him. This in itself was now somewhat unusual. Yusuke had been somewhat avoiding him since he’d joined with the interlopers—probably not intentionally, he just seemed...distracted. Which made sense, what with his discovery of the Metaverse and pursuit of Madarame’s Shadow. 

“Akira,” he said, sparking off conversation, which was, again, unusual for him. “Could I impose on your time for a short while?”

“Sure,” said Akira, putting down his lunchbox. “What’s up?”

“It’s just...I know I haven’t mentioned this to you, but I’ve met a few people from Shujin Academy, and...I suppose we’ve become friends.”

Yusuke’s eyes were flickering about nervously, as though he wasn’t sure how Akira would take this news.

“Well, that’s great,” said Akira, smiling at him. Of course, in reality he couldn’t care less about Yusuke’s new, foolish group of friends, but there was no need to let him know the depths of that resentment just yet. “I’m glad you’ve met more people you get along with.”

“Ah, yes,” said Yusuke, smiling nervously. “Well, I mentioned you to them, as another one of my friends, and now it seems they very much want to meet you. You don’t have to, of course, I would never want to pressure you, and to be honest I feel very embarrassed about the whole thing, but...if you _did_ want to...”

Was this really happening? Was he seriously being invited to meet the Metaverse interlopers purely by chance? Was he really being given this kind of opportunity?

...Maybe the universe _didn’t_ hate him. 

“I would be happy to, Yusuke,” he said. 

Yusuke smiled. “I’m glad of that. I had worried...but nevermind. Would you like to join me after school?” 

“Of course,” said Akira. “Where were you planning to meet them?” 

“In Shibuya, by the overpass.”

It made sense—Shibuya was about half-way between Shujin and Kosei, after all. 

“I’ll walk with you there.”

“Thank you,” said Yusuke, still smiling. 

It was nice that he _could_ smile now, without the creeping menace of Madarame looming over him. He hadn’t had his public breakdown yet, but...it would be soon, of that there was no doubt. 

And now he would get to meet the perpetrators in-person. How exciting.

* * *

It seemed that everyone else had gathered together before he and Yusuke arrived at the Shibuya overpass. Hmm. Perhaps Kosei was a little further away than he’d thought. Or Shujin was a bit closer. Either way, it was definitely _them._

They looked almost alarmingly normal in their school clothes—despite the fact almost all of them seemed to be breaking the dress code. 

The blonde girl he’d noticed first in the group appeared to be wearing a hoodie under her uniform, along with bright red leggings that, as he’d suspected, made her stand out about a mile away. The blonde boy was a little more subtle, having replaced the usual school jumper with a rather flashy T-shirt, meanwhile Goro Akechi, apparently attempting to be the model student (which wasn’t too surprising, he was a celebrity, after all) appeared to be the only one dressed in his proper school uniform. What a gaggle of misfits. 

“Ah, we appear to have arrived late, my apologies,” said Yusuke, jogging over to the group. 

Akira hurried along next to him, and had been about to introduce himself, until—

A cat stuck its head out of Akechi’s bag, shook itself, then said, in a deeply annoyed tone, “I’ll say you are! Where have you been? Did you get lost on the way here?”

Akira couldn’t stop himself from staring at it. That was a cat. An actual real cat. But it...talked? It definitely talked, right? He wasn’t just...completely losing it? 

“Is something wrong?” asked Akechi, suddenly glaring at him quite menacingly. 

Uh... Probably he should be the one to be asking that, all things considered but...he needed to think on his feet. The others didn’t seem aware the cat could talk, so...

“You have...a cat...in your bag...” Akira managed to stutter—and in fairness to him it wasn’t like most people made a habit of carrying their cats around in bags all day anyway. 

“Is that a problem?” asked Akechi, still glaring at him. 

Meanwhile, the blond boy had edged around him and appeared to be making a strong effort to try and shove the cat back in, muttering something that sounded an awful lot like, ‘Shut up, Mona, he can’t understand you!’

Wait, Mona? Like, the Metaverse Mona? Oh. How utterly stupid of him. Of course the cat-creature would appear as a cat in the real world. Dear God, what an embarrassing mistake. Maybe the creature deserved to be released if Akira couldn’t even spot a magic cat when he saw one.

Akechi sighed exasperatedly as Mona finally gave up the fight and sunk back into his bag, disappearing from view and allowing himself to be zipped away again. That poor thing must put up with a lot if Akechi really did drag it around all day...

“So this is your friend, Kitagawa-kun?” asked Akechi, looking like he wanted nothing less than to introduce Akira as the topic of conversation, but was doing so anyway out of a forced habit. 

Well, it was nice to know the animosity Akira felt towards him was reciprocated...albeit, probably for the wrong reasons. 

“Yes, I’m Akira Kurusu,” said Akira, projecting his best polite smile. “But you can just call me Akira. Yusuke’s given me to understand he’s recently become a friend of yours, is that right?”

“Sure is,” said the blond boy, beaming at him. “I’m Ryuji Sakamoto—but just call me Ryuji.”

“And I’m Ann,” said the blonde girl. “Nice to meet you, Akira!” 

Hmm, both of them seemed far peppier than Akechi—he could see them being friends quite easily, and it would make sense for one of them to approach Yusuke if he was feeling down. A picture was beginning to form in Akira’s mind of what might have happened to bring the two groups together...

“Nice to meet you too,” he said, before turning back to Akechi. “And you are?”

He already knew who Akechi was, of course, but that didn’t mean Akira didn’t expect to be introduced regardless. 

“Goro Akechi,” said Akechi, tonelessly. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

They lapsed into silence—Akechi’s initial aggression about Mona seemed to have made things quite awkward, and Akira was aware that Yusuke could sense it too, going by his fidgeting.

“So,” he said, deciding to break the silence. “Is there a story behind the cat or are you just very attached to it?”

Ryuji snorted at that, and Akechi aimed a glare at the side of his head. They hadn’t seemed to get along particularly well in the Palace either...what an odd group of people. 

“It’s nothing special,” said Akechi, shifting the bag that held Mona on his shoulder. “He just...likes to be with me, that’s all.”

He scowled at the floor as he said it, as though Akira was forcing him to admit to something he was ashamed of. Of course, what with the cat being sentient, it was possible it actually had bullied Akechi into carrying it around, in which case he was right to be embarrassed. Still. Akira wasn’t supposed to know that. 

“Well, it’s nice that you care about his wellbeing, Akechi-san. Does he have a name?”

“He’s called Morgana,” said Ann, before Akechi could say anything. “Or Mona for short!”

“What a nice name,” said Akira, smiling. 

“We didn’t choose it,” grumbled Akechi. 

Oof. Well, let it not be said that Akira didn’t know when he wasn’t wanted. Still, it was a shame that the leader of their group had taken such a disliking to him. What a pain. 

“Well, it was certainly nice meeting you all,” he said, endeavouring to remain polite. “Thank you for introducing me, Yusuke.”

“Oh,” said Yusuke, looking a little surprised at being introduced into the conversation. “You’re welcome, Akira.”

“Were you guys planning on going anywhere?” he asked, turning back to the group. “It’s just that I have a late shift tonight so I need to have dinner pretty soon, or I won’t eat at all.”

“Nothing you should trouble yourself with,” said Akechi, with a sharp edge to his voice. “If you have places to be, please don’t let us stop you, Kurusu-kun.”

Huh. What a jackass. Perhaps Akechi sensed Akira’s annoyance behind the facade...or perhaps he was just rude—either way, it was obvious he wouldn’t be able to find out anything more about them than he already knew by sticking around. 

“Apologies if I’ve wasted your time,” he said, with a gracious smile. “I’ll get going then. Yusuke, I assume you’ll want to join them?”

“No,” said Yusuke, and to Akira’s surprise he seemed to be staring in a highly peeved manner at Akechi. “I’ll join you for dinner, if that’s alright.”

“Fine by me,” said Akira, with a shrug. He turned back to the group, to find that both Ann and Ryuji seemed somewhat annoyed with Akechi too. Interesting. It seemed the group might be more on the rocks than he’d thought. “I’ll catch you around sometime.”

“Yes, of course,” said Ann, smiling a bit desperately. “See you around, Akira!”

“See you!” Ryuji called back.

Akechi remained silent as he and Yusuke walked away. 

They walked in silence for about five minutes before Yusuke sighed deeply and turned to him.

“I’m sorry about that, Akira. I had no idea he’d be so stand-offish—I had hoped it was only a childish whim, but...”

“It’s fine,” said Akira. “You don’t have to apologise for him. Your other friends seemed quite nice.”

“Ann and Ryuji, yes,” said Yusuke, quietly. “Akechi himself normally isn’t so bad, but...I suppose he can be quite inappropriately rude, at times.” 

Yes, Akira had noticed that in the Metaverse too. He was their leader, but that fact didn’t seem to have gone down easy within the group. A difficult personality to rally around, it seemed. 

“I don’t care what he thinks of me,” said Akira. “After all, I already have a good friend, don’t I?”

Yusuke laughed quietly, turning his head away. “You’re too kind, but thank you. I have...missed seeing you, these past few days.”

“You were busy,” said Akira. “I understand.” 

Besides, he himself was going to be very busy in the upcoming days...

“Well, not so much anymore,” said Yusuke. “My project is complete, so I promise I’ll no longer ignore you—to the best of my ability.”

Akira laughed. “Ah, that sounds like you, Yusuke. So then, where do you want to go for dinner?”

“Oh, you’d really take me?” asked Yusuke, looking at him with wide eyes. “I only used it as an excuse to escape conversation.”

“It’s fine,” said Akira, shrugging. “I’ve been working a lot these last few weeks. I have some money left over so...why not?” 

“Thank you, Akira,” said Yusuke, beaming at him. “In fact there is a place I’ve always wanted to go...”

* * *

“What the heck was that all about?” cried Takamaki, the moment Kurusu and Kitagawa were out of earshot. “Yusuke was trying to be nice—introducing us to his friend like that—and then you had to go and...and...”

“Eff it all up!” Sakamoto finished. 

“Yeah!”

Goro scowled and massaged his forehead. They were right, after all. Kitagawa _was_ trying to be nice. And in fact, Goro had fully intended to be nice in return—put a special effort in, even—but then Kurusu had been staring at Morgana and a wave of protective anger swept over him, wiping all good intentions from his mind. It wasn’t even like Kurusu had a suspicious reason for doing it—as he’d so rightly pointed out, it was pretty unusual for people to carry cats around in bags, but now... Now he really _had_ fucked it up, hadn’t he? 

Seemed that try as he might, he really couldn’t escape his own inherent poisonousness. Another good intention wasted.

“Sorry,” he muttered, though it was hard to say it. “He was rubbing me the wrong way.”

“Ugh, now he’s gonna think we were all totally rude to him with no reason,” sighed Takamaki, puffing her cheeks out. “And Yusuke’s going to be mad too.”

“Eh, Yusuke will probably get over it,” said Sakamoto, shrugging. “He doesn’t seem like the type to hold a grudge.”

“Maybe,” sighed Takamaki.

It was at that moment the instigator of all this trouble decided to stick his nose into things again.

“Are we done now?” asked Morgana, impetuously, hopping out of the bag and onto the ground in front of them. “Never mind Yusuke’s friend—what are we going to do about this situation?”

“You mean the other Metaverse-user, right?” asked Takamaki.

“Yes. Akechi, did you find anything?”

Goro sighed and folded his arms. They probably weren’t going to take the news well. “Yes, I did. I spoke to Sae-san yesterday and from what she told me, I think it’s highly likely that whoever this other Metaverse-user is, they’re the one who’s been causing all the strange incidents recently.”

“Strange incidents, as in...?” asked Sakamoto.

Goro exhaled sharply and scowled at him. “Don’t you watch the news? Haven’t you heard about the strange uptick in people falling into unexplainable comas, completely changing their personalities or outright dropping dead lately? It’s been on the police’s radar for months, because all the people affected appear to have been guilty of some crime or other, but hadn’t been arrested or investigated for it. Sae-san’s made it into her own personal project to investigate.”

“Wait so...this other Metaverse user’s really been doing all that?” asked Takamaki, staring at him with wide eyes. “But there have been so many—how is that even...”

Goro had thought the same thing when he’d realised, but the more he thought about it the more it seemed to make sense...

“It’s possible it’s not just one person, but instead a group of people, like ours,” he speculated. “Or perhaps it is just one person, but they’ve had years of practice. Either way, whoever it is we’re up against, we need to be very careful.” 

“But why would they be targeting us?” asked Sakamoto, scowling. “I mean, if they’re targeting criminals then we’re basically on the same side, right?”

Goro raised a searing eyebrow. “Bearing in mind this is possibly the most dangerous serial killer on the planet you’re talking about, Sakamoto-kun, would you still like to compare us to them?” 

Sakamoto’s face went pale. “Wait—serial killer? But—”

“Yes, they’ve changed people’s hearts, but they’ve also killed people,” Goro said sharply. “Lots of people. And rendered many more essentially brain-dead. I know we were toeing the line with Kamoshida, but the lengths to which this person is willing to go far outstretches us. It would be incredibly dangerous to underestimate them.” 

“How many people have they targeted so far?” asked Takamaki, quietly. 

Goro sighed. “At least a hundred incidents are recorded in Sae-san’s files. Possibly more, given the people who die are usually quite old and infirm anyway, and might not have been reported.”

Takamaki’s face was ashen. “So we were really in there with someone who’s killed so many people?”

“Yes,” said Goro. “And it’s very likely they spotted us, given how much experience they have. Do you understand how serious this is now?” 

The group went silent, everyone avoiding each other’s eyes as they mulled over the extent of the trouble they were in.

“The only thing we really know about them is that they have a white mask,” said Morgana, quietly. “We’re practically helpless against them if they figure out who we are.”

“Do you think they’re really gonna come after us?” asked Sakamoto, scratching the back of his head. “I mean, sure, we aren’t the same as them, but we aren’t, like, actually _criminals_ or anything.”

Goro sighed. “Unfortunately we have no way of knowing. It may be that regardless of whether or not we’ve committed a crime, the threat of us knowing about the Metaverse would be too much for them to ignore. Someone who’s incapacitated that many people wouldn’t be keen to let their secret get out so easily.”

“But we aren’t gonna tell anyone!” Takamaki insisted. “Right?”

He _wanted_ to. Whoever this person was, they were too dangerous to just let go, that much was for sure. But the fact of the matter was that if he told Sae-san about the Metaverse then she’d ask how he knew about it. And explaining that would inevitably reveal that he’d been part of a group that essentially brainwashed a man into total compliance. Losing his job would be the least of his worries at that point.

“No, we aren’t,” he admitted reluctantly. “But they aren’t going to know that. And we certainly can’t just ignore it.”

“But what are we gonna do?” asked Sakamoto. “It’s not like we can just track them down ourselves. And Yusuke knows nothing about it!” 

“I’ll inform Kitagawa-kun next time I see him,” said Goro. And apologise for being rude to his friend. Not that they needed to know that. “As for the fact we can’t track him...I know. It’s difficult. But I’m going to put a lot of thought into the matter. Until then we’re on standby until we find a way to track down White Mask or we discover another target.”

“Okay,” sighed Sakamoto.

“I’ll see what I can find too,” said Morgana, swishing his tail. “I know more about the Metaverse than you guys, so I might be able to find out more about him.”

“So,” said Takamaki, clapping her hands together, “now all that heavy stuff’s out of the way, are we gonna get those crêpes or what?” 

Goro sighed. He was not fond of crêpes, or indeed, any other sweet food—despite what he was forced to say in interviews—but he was too damned soft to correct Takamaki on the matter. Especially when he was already so tired. 

“Fine,” he said, opening his bag for Morgana to jump back in. “But I’m not paying for them.”

“Okay, let’s go!” said Takamaki, beginning to lead the way into Shibuya proper, with Sakamoto muttering grumpily behind them.

Despite his initial misgivings about them, he’d become quite fond of Takamaki and Sakamoto. Yes, they were loud, and yes, it was a pain being dragged around by them all hours of the day but...it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be. Of course, he’d never call them friends—he wasn’t so stupid as to think they’d actually end up sticking around but...for now, it was alright. 

He just had to focus on finding out more about this White Mask...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyy finally something from Akechi's POV! So Akira's first meeting with the PTs doesn't go great, but at least they didn't catch on that he heard Mona talking. I thought it was about time we established exactly the extent of what he's done in the Metaverse, and as it turns out...kid's been busy. If the PT ever do discover who he is, it's definitely going to be...interesting, to say the least.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


	11. Imprisonment

**Friday 27th May**

The first indication that not all was well was not inside Shido’s Palace. 

Akira could feel his heart fluttering away in his chest as he crouched behind the wall, careful to remain out of sight.

“Is everything alright in there?” Wakaba’s voice crackled over the receiver. “Your heart rate's up.”

“Fine,” Akira whispered into his wrist-piece. “Just a bit of minor trouble coming in. It won’t take long to get by.”

“Alright,” she sighed. “Be careful.”

But it was not ‘a bit of minor trouble’ as he’d suggested. Security in Wakaba’s Palace had gotten worse. Quite considerably worse, actually. Had something happened? Something he hadn’t noticed, thanks to being so preoccupied by what was happening with Yusuke, and the other Metaverse users? 

He could sense one of the guards drawing closer, plodding its way over at a painfully slow march. He glanced above him. Augh, if he could only get his leg over this wall...

It was getting closer...

Alright, he’d just have to run for it.

Springing out from behind the wall, he made his way down the hallway at a dead-sprint, the warning siren that signalled one of the guards had spotted him blaring overhead.

Adrenaline pumped through him as he turned one corner, then the next—he knew his way out, he just didn’t want the Shadow to catch him. 

The exit was in sight—just at the top of the stairs. 

He didn’t turn to check if the Shadow was still following him as he sprinted upwards, instead just clinging to the hope he could make it out in time. 

And then...

Then he was out. 

Gasping, he stumbled away from Wakaba’s Palace and into the nearest side-street, leaning back against the wall as his throat burned, his ribcage seeming to shriek in protest. 

Something was very wrong. 

“Are you past it?” Wakaba asked in his ear.

“Yes,” muttered Akira. “Just about.”

“Don’t waste your energy before you get into the Palace proper,” she warned him. Not that he needed to be.

If he’d have known Wakaba’s Palace had turned into such a death-trap he’d have insisted on entering from elsewhere. But now... He had to start moving towards Shido’s Palace, or she’d get suspicious.

Pushing himself up off the wall, he heaved a great sigh and began making his way towards the Diet Building. 

What had caused this sudden change? Wakaba didn’t seem all that different in real life—more stressed, to be sure, but what they were doing was stressful, so that shouldn’t come as a surprise. Wakaba’s Palace encapsulated her lab, a grim personification of how she viewed her job—trapped in Shido’s grip—but it had remained pretty constant for almost all the time Akira had been in Tokyo, despite her situation declining to the point she’d had to ask _him_ for help. So maybe he was wrong about what it meant?

Perhaps it was something more personal—something he didn’t know about? He didn’t know _everything_ about Wakaba’s life, after all. But he needed to work out what it was. Fast. If it continued to get worse it could put his life in danger just going in. And he couldn’t afford that—not with the situation he already had in Shido’s Palace.

And speaking of which, that very Palace now loomed before him, ominously blotting out the sky. Time to get back on that damned ship...

* * *

His target this time (if he’d checked his notes correctly) was a former noble, whom Shido appeared to be using to make sure the upper echelons of society didn’t interfere with his political plans. How exactly Shido had managed to gather such a wide range of peculiar acquaintances, Akira had no idea, but he must have managed it somehow, because here he was, dealing with the fallout. 

Now, he’d been informed that this pitiful excuse of a human being liked to lurk near the pool and stare at half-clothed women all day—so it seemed him and Shido at least shared that much in common. There was just the question of how exactly to ambush him when he was sitting beside an open-air pool. Not a frightful lot of places he could use to sneak up on the man. 

He _had_ brought his sniper rifle this time, but he wasn’t sure if he was willing to set the whole Palace in a frenzy by using it to take him out—it was one thing to snipe a Shadow lurking in some enclosed room—quite another to snipe one lounging by the pool. There would be uproar, and Akira didn’t like his chances—especially in a Palace like this. So no sniping, and no sneaking...difficult. 

The last option would just be to...walk up to him and ask for the letter. He’d sacrifice the element of surprise, sure, but it would at least prevent any other Shadows from getting ideas and trying to interfere. 

He sighed deeply. 

This was by far one of the most irritating Palaces he’d ever had to tackle. 

Hopping off the balcony he’d been perched on, he began to make his way over to the noble, avoiding the piercing gaze of the Shadows patrolling the pool. The man was splayed out on a sun lounger, the very image of middle-age decline. Akira repressed a shudder as he walked up to him. 

“Hello?” grumbled the man, tilting his sunglasses up as Akira approached. “You one of the staff? You don’t look quite like the rest of ‘em...”

His eyes flicked to the Shadows patrolling the pool, then back to Akira.

“Very astute of you,” said Akira, smiling behind his mask. “I’m not like them.”

The noble narrowed his eyes, scrambling to sit up a bit straighter. “Who are you? You don’t work for the Cleaner, do you? I haven’t done anything wrong, I swear!”

Oh, he was a nervous one. Good. That meant this should be easy. 

“No,” said Akira, taking a menacing step forward, “but I do run a cleaning service of my own, if you get my drift.”

The noble’s face turned ashen. “W-what do you want?” 

“Oh, that’s quite simple. I want a letter of introduction to your dear friend Shido. Think you can do that for me?” 

“A letter of introduction?” asked the noble. “What do you want that for?”

“That’s for me to know, and you to keep your nose out of,” said Akira, smiling serenely. The noble couldn’t see his face, of course, but...he’d get the message one way or another. “Now will you do it?”

The noble paused, his eyes darting this way and that, clearly looking for a way out.

“Believe you me,” said Akira, now hovering uncomfortably close to the man, “whatever it is you think Shido will do to you for giving me this letter, I promise that if you _don’t_ , you’ll get about a thousand times worse from me, do you understand?”

The man’s eyes bulged out of his face, his flabby cheeks unnaturally pale.

“I-I see,” he managed to gurgle, looking oddly like a stranded fish. “Well then, in that case...”

He reached into the pocket of his swimming trunks and withdrew a thin envelope, holding it out towards Akira.

“There,” he said, his voice cracking with nerves. “It’s all in there—you can check, I don’t mind.”

Well, since he’d been so kind as to offer...

Akira unfolded the envelope, and sure enough, there was a valid letter of introduction in there. Well. That was relatively painless. If he could persuade the others too—

But that line of thought was rapidly broken off as, out of the corner of his eye, a figure began to form. A big one.

“Think you can intimidate me?” hissed the voice of the noble, now coming out of a very large, very angry-looking Forneus. “Think again, shrimp!”

Oh, for pity’s sake. 

He jumped back, summoning Thor to his fingertips with a snap of his fingers. The Forneus was already preparing a psychic blast, pink energy swirling around its head as it glowered down at him. The other Shadows were forming an interested circle on the periphery, clearly curious as to what was going to happen. Alright. He had to take this thing out quickly, or one of them might jump in and try to take him out itself. 

“Thor, use Ziodyne!” he hissed, pointing at the Forneus. 

With an intense _crack_ , lightning leapt from Thor’s fingers and collided with the over-sized stingray, a hideous buzzing sound emanating from its body as electricity flowed through wet flesh. It collapsed to the ground, its breathing shallow, its body twitching disconcertingly. Knocked down—not collapsed—and probably not entirely unconscious either. He didn’t plan on making the same mistake he’d made last time.

With a flick of his wrist, he pulled a pistol from his holster, and pointed it right at the Forneus’s head. His finger hovered on the trigger. One pull and it would be dead. But he didn’t have time to pull it. 

Next second, something exploded into his side, knocking him off his feet, sending him clattering towards the ground with barely an idea of which way was even up.

His ears were ringing. 

Had the gun gone off?

He raised his head groggily to see the Forneus dissolving into dust—well, that was one problem solved. But now another had reared its horrible head, as a Cerberus began to bear down on him. 

“Akira?” Wakaba’s voice echoed in his ears. “What’s happening?”

“I’m getting out of here,” he said, barely having time to move the wrist-piece away from his mouth as he dodged the beast flying towards him once again.

He broke off into a sprint, heading for the inside of the boat, where it would be difficult for the Cerberus to follow him. Clattering through the doorframe, he glanced back to see the creature still in hot pursuit.

Shit.

He’d have to abandon any notion of heading for the Safe Room. He had what he needed from Shido’s Palace. Now he just needed to get out. 

Still running, running so hard he thought his legs might give out, he reached out, feeling for that twitch in the Metaverse that would be his ticket home and...found it. Thank goodness. 

He stumbled onto his feet, back on the streets of Tokyo again—he quickly felt his chest. Not wet. So he wasn’t bleeding, thank goodness. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t shattered anything. He needed to head back to Wakaba—quickly. 

With another tug at the strings of the universe, he was back in the Metaverse again—the normal Metaverse this time—not that accursed ship. 

“Are you out?” asked Wakaba. “Are you injured?”

“Not obviously,” Akira whispered back, the air gradually beginning to refill in his lungs. “But I’m heading back over to you. I’m a bit battered.”

“Alright. Don’t be too long.”

* * *

“I don’t _think_ your ribs are broken,” mused Wakaba, looking at his chest. “I know I’m not an expert but...well, let’s face it, even if they were it’s not like there’s much a doctor could do for you.”

“Can’t put ‘em in a cast, that’s for sure,” sighed Akira, a twinge shooting through his chest.

“I think we should give it another two weeks, just to be safe,” said Wakaba, biting her thumb. 

“What!” cried Akira, as though his foot wasn’t still aching too. “But—”

“No buts,” said Wakaba, sharply. “I’m alright for now. I won’t have you dying just to get rid of Shido, you hear me?”

Akira sighed petulantly, hoping to mask his genuine concern. After all, _something_ was going wrong for Wakaba if her Palace was looking like that—whether Shido was involved or not. Unless...

A nasty thought occurred to him. 

Could it be...him that was causing this? It must be stressful, her having to watch him traverse the Metaverse, after all. All alone, unable to really materially help if anything went wrong—unable to tell anyone what they were doing, because it was absolutely, unequivocally illegal. He hoped it wasn’t...but...

“Are you sure you want to keep watching me?” he asked.

Wakaba blinked in surprised, then raised an eyebrow at him. 

“It just...I know this is stressful for you,” he said. “I’d hate to be making things worse by making you worry about me on top of everything else.”

Wakaba swallowed hard, then sighed. “It’s fine, Akira. Besides, as the one who asked you to do this, it’s only right that I try and help you as best I can. We’ll give it another two weeks. It’s not like we aren’t making progress, after all.”

She had a point. And he couldn’t really deny that his ribs could use a rest... Still. It might be time for him to investigate _her_ Palace a bit more thoroughly. 

“Alright,” he said, shrugging his shirt back on. “I’ll be ready and waiting on the 17th of June.”

“Take it easy,” said Wakaba, severely. “I know you’ve been pushing yourself lately.”

“Alright, alright,” chuckled Akira. “I’ll take care of myself. I promise.”

“You’d better keep to it,” said Wakaba.

But there was a heaviness to her words that kept either of them from relaxing completely.

* * *

**Sunday 29th May**

“Have you noticed anything...off about Wakaba lately?” 

Futaba raised her head from where she was pouring over her computing magazine to stare at him with big brown eyes. 

“Off? About Mom? Why do you ask?” 

“Ah,” Akira smiled self-consciously, folding his own magazine in half. “She just seems a bit down to me. That’s all.”

Futaba frowned, sitting up a little straighter. “Yeah, I guess. She always gets like that around deadlines though. Or at least, so she says. Do you think something else might be happening with her?”

“I dunno,” he sighed. “I just don’t like seeing her upset, that’s all.” 

Futaba puffed out her cheeks, before blowing up to make her fringe fly off her face carelessly. Or it would have seemed careless to anyone else. Akira, for one, knew Futaba only started joking about like this right before—

“Sure it’s got nothing to do with your super-secret project?” she asked, pouncing on him like a cat on a mouse. 

Ah. He’d wondered if she’d heard that conversation. 

“You know, there are better and more interesting things to do than listen in on the café all the time,” he said, raising an eyebrow at her. 

“I disagree, jackass,” said Futaba. “After all, if I hadn’t been doing that I wouldn’t have heard that juicy tidbit. And what’s up with your foot? Did you hurt it? Is Mom making you do fitness tests?”

“Maybe she is,” said Akira, shrugging arrogantly. “And nothing’s wrong with my foot.”

“Bull—”

“Not right now, anyway.”

“Ugh, you’re impossible!” sighed Futaba, dramatically flopping back onto the floor. 

Akira chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Come on, get up. It’s really nothing special.”

“Isn’t it?” Futaba whined from the floor. 

“No,” said Akira, clambering off his seat and offering her a hand to lift herself back up. “Well, not to me, anyway. It’s probably very interesting to Wakaba. Or at least, I hope so given how I’m working myself to the bone over it.”

Futaba sighed and took his hand, pulling herself upright. “Fine. So what are you doing?”

“Well, it’s not far off what you said. Apparently she wants to know more about how the human brain affects the cognitive world, so she’s making me do some exercises while linked up to a computer. Sometimes literal exercises.” He grimaced at the memory of the Forneus. That was certainly some exercise he could have done without. 

“And what did you do to your foot?”

He gave her a half-hearted glare. She continued to stare at him, undaunted. 

“Fine,” he said, huffily. “I stepped on a thumbtack. There, happy?”

Futaba’s face contorted into a gleeful grin. “A thumbtack?”

“Yes, a thumbtack.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes.” 

She snorted and began giggling uncontrollably. “Did you scream?” 

He glared at her. “No.”

“I bet you did.”

“You have no way of proving it,” he said, giving her a snide smile. “And that’s the way it’ll stay.” 

Futaba rolled her eyes, pulled herself upright again, and suddenly became quite serious again. 

“I do know what you mean though, with Mom. She’s been...quieter lately. Like whenever she smiles her heart’s not quite in it, you know? I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Akira probably had a better idea, but even then...

“It’s okay,” he said, though he didn’t know whether he was talking to Futaba or himself. “We’ll keep an eye on her. I’m sure she’s just stressed.”

“Yeah,” said Futaba. 

But both of them were lying.

* * *

Wakaba’s Palace was one of the few he knew about that he hadn’t actually tried to investigate. There were many reasons he’d kept his curiosity to himself in this instance. The first was that he’d always known she was a Metaverse researcher, and that, as such, her Palace had the potential to be far more dangerous to him than the standard fare—possibly even worse than Shido’s. The second was that her problem was internal, but she wasn’t (as far as he could tell) suicidal, which meant she was fairly low down the priority list. And the third, now he knew precisely the situation she was in, was that if he _did_ try to produce a change of heart, it might kill all of them. 

Akira had learnt enough about Masayoshi Shido while traversing his Palace not to fool himself into thinking there would be any mercy if Shido worked out that Wakaba had betrayed him. The man had clout. Lots of it. Clout he’d already threatened to use on Wakaba once, and that Akira had no problem believing he _would_ use if he felt it necessary. So, painful as it was, he couldn’t actually help her—not by messing about in the Metaverse, anyway. 

That said, it wasn’t like the Metaverse was the only place he held sway. He knew it was possible to heal a person of their mental woes without performing what was essentially amateur brain surgery on them. With suicidal people particularly, he tried to avoid Palaces altogether, if he could. Far more useful to connect them to services and people that could help them piece things back together from the outside. He hoped the same would be the case with Wakaba. There was just one flaw. 

He had no idea what her distorted desire actually _was._

Her Palace took the form of a prison, replacing the silvery glass of her lab with cold cinder-blocks. It was a vast expanse, larger than the lab was in the real world; a towering, oppressive mass that would be almost impossible to miss, even on a casual stroll through the Metaverse. Akira had walked by it many times—and escaped from it three times now. But why was it there? That was what he needed to discover. 

So it was with trepidation that, once again, he ventured inside. 

The entrance to the prison was a surprisingly vast room. Akira had passed through it several times now—indeed, he could see from where he was standing the small passage he usually used to emerge into this room from above. Though it was as cold and grey as the rest of the prison, it had an oddly calm feeling to it. As though, although terrible things waited inside, the entrance was a kind of limbo—inside the Palace, but not yet fully immersed in the true horror of the place. It was odd. 

The real entrance hall was, after all, as ordinary as any Akira had ever visited. But not to Wakaba. She saw something different in it. Why? 

He crept forward, his footfalls now light and soft, his hands tensed to bring out any Persona or weapon he might need to deal with this place. A myriad of panicked visions had already beset him before he’d even set foot inside—what if, like in Shido’s Palace, Wakaba’s guards could kill him in an instant? What if she’d unknowingly manufactured some guard system in her mind that would crush him as soon as he began to explore further? What if...? 

But he’d had step inside eventually. After all, he’d never been one to simply run from his problems altogether. 

He knew guards patrolled the inside of the Palace—he had to escape them practically every time he manifested in the lab—but they usually just ignored him. Not so anymore. He’d always been a threat—which wasn’t too surprising, given how much she’d known of his activities even before asking him—and he hadn’t expected that to change after they’d begun working together. The human unconscious was a powerful thing. But he hadn’t expected it to get _worse_ either. 

Prowling towards the doors that led out of the entrance hall and into the complex proper, he found himself, for the first time in a long time, apprehensive of what he might find within. And not just because it might be dangerous. 

But then, with only the slightest push, the whitewashed doors swung open, and he was inside the prison proper. 

For a place with glass walls and windows in the real world, it was ironically dark. The stone walls blocked out all light, the only glow illuminating the corridor coming from dim, flickering overhead lights, adding an oddly sanitised dimension to the otherwise dark and grimy surroundings. 

A lab replaced by a prison, patrolled by guards, each office a cell. Did she think her fellow scientists were trapped? Who exactly were the guards guarding?

That was another thing about the Palace—something he’d noticed in Shido’s Palace too—Wakaba, it seemed, preferred to remain unseen. He’d never laid eyes on her Shadow, though it must, by now, have become aware of his presence. She appeared to feel no need to confront him, as so many Palace owners did—to threaten or bully him—try to make him get out. Possibly it was because she felt un-threatened, even though he was technically a ‘threat’. That was why he suspected he had yet to lay eyes on Shido’s Shadow. Or possibly it was because she _couldn’t_ see him. 

Desperate minds worked in strange ways, and of the suicidal people he’d visited in the Metaverse, their Shadows were unusual too—often nicer—the kind part of themselves they’d locked away in the face of their desperation to escape reality. 

The ruler of a prison would surely be the warden, but if Akira was right about why the Palace appeared as it did, the warden would not be Wakaba. If so, what was she? Where was she? What did she desire so badly that this strange complex had appeared? 

He prowled along the corridors, listening intently for any sign of the guards, ducking into rooms, around corners whenever he heard one coming. There were more of them, he was sure of it. More guards...more people watching her? More of Shido’s lackeys come to check up on her work? Akira had never seen any such people going into her lab though. How strange. 

Another room, another door. 

He didn’t have a plan of where to go, but experience had taught him that in most Palaces, people adhered to the rule of verticality. The furthest, most prominent point away from the entrance—usually at the very top, or very bottom of the structure—would inevitably be the location of their Treasure. And usually, as was the conceit of the Palace Rulers, where they would lounge, waiting for any potential thieves to take their prize.

All Palace owners were aware of the threat of thieves somehow, cognisant of the Metaverse or not. And of course, all of them feared him, that being one of his many professions. 

The further up he got, the more spiralling the prison seemed to become. Warping from a traditional prison block to some sort of tower—like an old fairy-tail, with the princess confined in the highest reaches—safe from the marauders below. Trapped in her lofty clouds. 

There was more light up here—the dark corridors and dimly lit rooms replaced by spiralling staircases and wide, well-lit cells, sunlight filtering down through barred windows. But the windows _were_ still barred. A glimmer that looked like hope, but instead led only to further entrapment. 

The Treasure couldn’t be far now. 

As he gripped the sides of the uneven stone walls, making his way up the staircase, listening (always listening) for guards, he noticed something else about the Palace. 

It was quiet. 

There had been a certain buzz on the lower levels—the sense that, although guards patrolled the place endlessly—people still lived and worked relatively functionally below. But here...here it was deathly quiet. Almost as quiet as the Metaverse proper, with its lack of animals, people and traffic. The only sound the occasional squeaking of a guard’s boots on unyielding stone. 

Akira remained unseen.

He couldn’t help that feel that, for all he was confident in his own expertise, there had been something in the prison keeping the guards from noticing him. A protective force in the air, as he clambered stubbornly upwards. 

And then, all at once, he stood before an imposing pair of wooden doors.

This was the highest point of the castle. 

The Treasure surely lay within.

Extending thin, gloved hands out in front of him, he pushed the doors open, bright red on dull brown. 

And then...he was there. At the answer to all his questions.

At last in the same room as Wakaba’s Shadow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More family bonding time this week! Well, sort of. If you count trying to kill your mum's evil boss as being family bonding time. Akira's met the PTs and now refuses to think about the problems they're causing him, so what does he do instead? That's right, go in search of more danger. Typical. Hopefully he'll actually deal with it soon, but it is Akira, so I wouldn't bet on it.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	12. Aimless Distraction

“Akira.”

A familiar, warm smile lit her face—the bright, unnatural yellow eyes doing little to offset her persistent aura of self-confidence. 

“Come here,” she said, beckoning him. “That mask makes it hard to see you.”

He walked closer—almost unconsciously. She had recognised him, even with the mask obscuring his entire face from view. So far no one had been able to do that before. This might prove to be very interesting indeed. 

As he approached, he lifted the mask from his face, the colours at once becoming more vibrant as the dark holes that covered his eyes disappeared. 

Thin iron bars separated him from her. 

When he reached them he paused, waiting for her to make the next move.

She rose from where she sat on the cold stone floor, dressed in old-fashioned, but plain-looking clothes. Not quite the prisoner, but not the princess either. She squinted at him from behind the bars. “I knew it was you. I was sure you’d come here eventually.” 

“Why are you trapped?” he asked, hovering near the bars. “I’m helping you, aren’t I?”

Her eyes crinkled as an odd smile lit her face. “Of course.”

“But the security’s gotten worse.”

She pursed her lips, folding her arms tight, as she always did when she was thinking. “I suppose that’s true. The only way I can think to explain it is that as one prison falls, another rises up to meet its place. We’re all trapped by something, after all.”

Akira placed a hand against the bars, trying to peer deeper into the cell—to perceive what troubled her. “Is Shido getting worse?”

“No…he’s an idiot,” said Wakaba, matter-of-factly. “He suspects nothing. He has too much power now to ever imagine that I could threaten him.”

So it wasn’t Shido...

“Is it me?” 

Wakaba gave a wry smile. As unreadable as ever...

“No,” she said, but even he could sense there was more to it than that. 

“Something to do with what we’re doing?”

“I’ve been doing a lot more thinking lately,” she replied. “More thinking than I’d like. About my research. It’s purpose. So on.”

Ah, that might give him an in... 

“You’re worried what you’re going to do after Shido?” 

She sighed deeply and turned back to face him, piercing yellow eyes looking directly at him. 

“You’re so young,” she said quietly. “That’s what worries me.”

Akira bristled internally, though he understood what she was saying. “I agreed to this. I offered to deal with Shido. And I’ve dealt with many like him before.”

She remained silent for a moment, her gaze resting on the floor. Then she looked up. “Yes. I suppose in that sense I’m far from the first one who’s failed you.” 

Akira couldn’t help a bitter chuckled escaping his lips. “You haven’t failed me. You’ve helped me. At least you’re honest about what you want—so many people are too concerned with what others might think to say they want someone dead. I know though. I see their relief afterwards.”

Wakaba blinked in surprise. “Are they always so happy?”

“Not always at first,” said Akira. “Sometimes not ever. But I like to think they’re better off than they were before.”

She sighed. “Is the world really such a broken place? I didn’t use to think so, but now...things seem so much greyer.”

Greyer?

“It’s true the world is a grim place,” Akira agreed quietly. “But that’s why I do what I do. I offer a service. I help people escape their chains when no one else can. That’s why I agreed to help you.” 

“Is that so...” she said quietly. “I suppose that’s interesting, in a depressing sort of way.” 

“Do you want me to stop this?” asked Akira, leaning closer to the bars. “I can, if you want. I’ll stop the moment you ask me to.”

Well. He’d stop telling her, at least.

She laughed, retreating a little further into the shadows. “Is that so?” she asked, yellow eyes shining bright in the darkness. “You know, I don’t think I quite believe you. Sorry Akira, but as long as you pursue Shido, I’ll be happiest if I know what it is you’re actually doing. Believe it or not, I care about your safety as much as mine.”

She shouldn’t. Akira knew how to look after himself, after all. But, he knew that wasn’t what she wanted to hear, so...

“Fine,” he sighed. “I just...don’t like to see you like this. Is there really no way I can help you out?”

She blinked, fixing him with a long stare. 

“You’ve already done more than enough,” she said, quietly. “Allow me to ponder on this a little longer. Who knows—I may work it out myself! I’m no dullard, you know.”

Of course not. But you didn’t need to be a dullard to be trapped in a Palace. 

“I understand,” he said, withdrawing from the bars, giving her some space. “I’ll keep an eye on this place though. Just in case.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

* * *

The journey out of the Palace was a little quicker than the journey in. He suspected Wakaba had been making it slightly easier for him to get by the guards once she was aware of his presence. That said, he still didn’t feel any easier about the situation. If the cause of Wakaba’s sense of imprisonment was her research itself then...that boded very badly. 

The research was her life’s work, after all. The reason she had a job in the first place. If she couldn’t do that, then... 

Troubling. Very troubling.

But as with almost everything that had been troubling him lately, there was very little he could do about it. How frustrating. Still, it probably wouldn’t hurt to give Wakaba a bit of space to process things on her own. And he would be keeping an eye on her Palace anyway, just to make sure nothing went south... 

It didn’t make him feel much better though. 

* * *

**Monday 30th May**

There was only one decent way Akira knew of to distract himself from his problems. Solving other people’s. Which was why he’d already texted Chihaya to let her know that he’d be dropping by her stall that evening to listen in on some of her customers more drastic concerns. As far as she was aware, she helped them through giving them decent life advice, which honestly wasn’t a bad idea—but the fact of the matter was that some of them needed a bit of extra help. That was where he came in. 

It had taken him a long time to win her trust, especially since he’d had to wait a significant while before getting rid of her cult leader, just so she didn’t get too suspicious—but now they close enough friends that Akira could text her to let her know he was coming, and she would be fine with it.

And speaking of friends he’d been trying to help...

“Akira!” called Yusuke, running up to him in the corridor. “I’m glad I caught you before class started.”

“What’s happening, Yusuke?” asked Akira, greeting him with a smile. 

“Nothing massively important,” Yusuke admitted sheepishly. “I just realised I’d forgotten to tell you something—last week Akechi approached me again after you met him and apologised for his behaviour. He said that if you wanted to meet again he’d be happy to see you, and that he hoped you didn’t think the worst of him for being so rude.”

“Oh,” said Akira, raising his eyebrows. Akechi hadn’t struck him as the type to be apologetic for his bad behaviour, but apparently Akira had misjudged him. And Yusuke certainly wasn’t the type to try and cover for him if he thought he was being rude, so it was probably genuine. How interesting. “Thank you for letting me know. I don’t know if I’ll take him up on his offer so soon, but I’m glad he apologised.”

“As am I,” said Yusuke, with a wan smile. “Akechi is very intelligent, but somewhat lacking in social skills I’m sad to say. I’m glad he took the time to reconsider.”

“Well, we have bigger worries right now anyway,” said Akira, glancing at his watch. “Like not being late for Ms Akamatsu’s class.”

“Yes,” murmured Yusuke, darkly. “I shouldn’t be surprised if she attempted to skin us for being late again. Perhaps even literally.”

“Then let’s go,” chuckled Akira, as they ascended the steps up to their class. 

* * *

Akira slumped onto the chair Chihaya had set out for him almost as soon as her previous customer left. 

“Had a long day?” she giggled, turning to him. 

“Just a long shift,” he sighed, rolling his shoulders. 

He liked working at the flower shop, but oh god, did he _hate_ having to stand up for three hours straight. It was one thing to sneak through the Metaverse—quite another to loiter around waiting for customers. 

“Well then, I won’t make you do too much work,” said Chihaya, smiling. “But don’t think that means you can slack off! I know you have the ability to change fate too.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Akira insisted, and broadly speaking it was true, since he fully intended to gather more information on future targets today. Just not...strenuously, or anything. 

“Good,” said Chihaya. “Ah, I think there’s someone coming now...”

And on the evening stretched. Akira got some quite interesting information as he sat and listened—most of the regulars were used to him by now anyway—and slowly three different targets began to form in his mind. The first was a rather less serious one—the ever-popular demonic boss overworking his employees. Not to death, just beyond the bounds of reason. He’d just need smacking around in the Metaverse a bit. The second was the younger sister of one of Chihaya’s clients—the young woman had been stalking her ex-boyfriend in a very unsettling manner—but, again, Akira doubted he’d need to do much more than give her unconscious a stern telling-off. The third he actually spotted from where he was sitting in the street. Well, he said spotted. Really it was more like ‘heard’.

For several weeks now, two of the hosts of a nearby club came out to smoke not far away from Chihaya’s stand. She glowered at them every time they got too close, and they backed off, but not far enough away that Akira couldn’t hear them. And so far almost every time, they’d ended up talking about their boss doing...distinctly questionable-sounding things. Akira thought it was high time he paid that man’s Shadow a visit. Especially since it sounded like there was a high chance of a Palace being involved.

So there were three new targets in the books, two relatively normal ones, and one possibly quite troubling one. He rose to thank Chihaya as she began closing up her stall. 

“Thank you for letting me sit with you,” he said, shifting his bag on his shoulder. “I appreciate it.”

“Not at all,” said Chihaya, grinning at him. “After all, you were the one who inspired me to start running things like this. Come back anytime! You know I’m always happy to have my assistant around.”

“Thanks, Chihaya,” he said, smiling.

“Anytime!”

* * *

**Tuesday 31st May**

He honestly still wasn’t over the fact the door was open now. He stared at it as he stood on the platform, feeling as though, at any moment, it might slam shut again, just to make him jump. 

“The Shadows have been more active lately,” said Arsène, hovering over him with arms crossed. 

“I know,” muttered Akira. “I think another of these might open soon.”

“That’s two in as many months,” said Arsène. “This could be very serious.”

They only had five months until all the doors were open if that remained consistent. Until November.

Shit.

“On the one hand, killing them isn’t particularly ethical,” Akira mused aloud, “on the other...”

“You wish they were dead?”

“I wish they’d just stop,” he sighed. “They don’t understand what they’re messing with—the creature—ugh!” He stamped his foot in frustration. “And I can’t even tell them! That’s the worst part!”

“We’ll figure out how to get to them somehow,” said Arsène. “For now, we should focus on getting these other fools into shape. They’re a more immediate threat.”

And, crucially, they’d take Akira’s mind off things for a bit. Alright. Time to go.

Finding Shadows in Mementos was a somewhat academic process. First he had to guess what layer they’d be on, then he had to actually track them down. Working out the layer usually wasn’t too hard, but finding them somewhere _in_ that layer? That was a hassle. There were, after all, an awful lot of Shadows in Mementos, and the pockets they created inside it weren’t easily identifiable if Akira didn’t know them personally—which he rarely did. 

It took him at least an hour to find his first target. 

A middle-aged man glowered at him as he approached. 

“Who are you?” he barked. “What do you want with me?”

That was the single bad aspect of his Metaverse outfit—it tended to put people on the defensive. Still. He could use that to his advantage.

“What I want,” he said, taking a bold step forward, “is for you to start treating your employees a little better.” 

The man shrank back, clearly aware that Akira had him on the back-foot. 

“What’ve they got to do with you? They deserve to be punished, the slackers. Back in my day—”

“I don’t doubt that you were treated atrociously too,” said Akira, cutting him off. “Seems always to be the case for you authoritarian types. But it wasn’t right then and it isn’t right now, do you understand me?”

“Interfering brat,” the man snarled, beginning to contort. Ah yes, he’d expected this. “Who are you to have a say? You’re only a boy—this is the only way to succeed in business—otherwise how is it fair? If I had to suffer, why shouldn’t they suffer too? I’ll show you!”

He had completely deformed, his monstrous-looking Shadow taking shape in the Metaverse as it squared up to fight for its life. Not that Akira would kill it—he wasn’t that cruel, but...

Well. It would be good stress relief.

* * *

After rather mercilessly beating the two fools he’d been after within an inch of their lives, they seemed to understand the true nature of their actions and swore to shape up in future. Akira collected the seeds of what would have been burgeoning Palaces and went on his merry way. Sort of. There was one last person he was looking for, after all...

He’d been searching for almost three hours now.

“Come on,” said Arsène, hovering near his shoulder. “It’ll be getting dark out soon. We should go home.”

Akira sighed. He’d hoped it wouldn’t have to come to this. 

“Can’t find him in here,” he declared, throwing his hands up in the air. “Which means only one thing.”

“Check the MetaNav when you get back,” sighed Arsène. “At least it won’t be a difficult Palace.”

He had a point—the man was likely only a minor mob boss if the extent of his unethical operations was a brothel linked to a host club. And Akira really _hoped_ that was the extent of his connections, because he did not have the energy to deal with another mega-structure on par with Shido’s and Wakaba’s. They were causing him more than enough trouble on their own. 

“At least we sorted out two people today,” sighed Arsène. “That’s something.”

“And we didn’t even kill ‘em,” Akira pointed out brightly. 

“We don’t _usually_ kill people without Palaces,” Arsène sagely pointed out. 

Not unless Akira was in an incredibly vindictive mood, anyway. Or they were just a hair’s breadth away from getting one. God he hated dealing with half-formed Palaces in Mementos—it was like walking into the middle of a train crash and trying to stop it. Horrible. 

But that was more than enough effort from him today. For now, he just wanted to go home and rest...while he still could. 

* * *

**Wednesday 1st June**

Akira checked the MetaNav while brushing his teeth that morning, clumsily typing in the likeliest phrase with one hand. 

_Kenzo Shibata, Host Club near Chihaya’s Fortune Telling Stall, Mansion_

“Candidate found.”

Nice. He hadn’t thought ‘host club near Chihaya’s fortune-telling stall’ would work at all, but sometimes the MetaNav seemed to be particularly charitable with him. And mansion worked too. But then, for a guy like him there really weren’t that many other options to go with, given his specific proclivities. For men like Shibata, things like ‘mansion’, ‘castle’, ‘temple’ and such were all obvious choices. Now he just had to head over there and crack him. 

_Kill or brainwash?_ asked Arsène.

_Don’t think killing him would do much if he is part of the Yakuza,_ Akira thought back, straightening his uniform so he didn’t look too much like he’d just stumbled out of bed. _If I brainwash him he’ll come clean about the operation and they’ll probably shut the whole joint down._

_Might that not alert our new ‘friends’?_

_Nah. Unlike our hapless acquaintances, I don’t leave evidence behind when I brainwash people. _

_Akechi’s a part of the police force though. He may become aware you habitually visit Shinjuku if another incident occurs there._

_The police aren’t investigating the brainwashing, thought Akira,_ in a mildly irritated manner. _They’re only interested in the shutdowns and the deaths. They love them a good confession. Clears up the whole process for them. They’d have a lot of nerve to complain about how many criminals I send them when they can’t even get off their asses and investigate themselves._

_I’m just saying he might be suspicious._

_Let him be. If he figures out who I am without actually seeing me in the Metaverse I’ll eat my hat._

There was a moment of silence. 

_Or y’know. I would. If I had one._

_Idiot._

_Shut it._

He _was_ dealing with that Yakuza boss, and there was nothing Arsène or anybody else could tell him to stop him. He needed some stress-relief, and these days, the only way to get it was by smacking Shadows senseless.

* * *

The great thing about spending time in the Metaverse was that, most of the time, it made Akira feel like he was on top of things in a way few other things could. There was just nothing like staking out a target, carefully slipping by Shadows, intricately observing the Palace and working out ways to get to the topmost point without being seen. Studying until he dropped couldn’t do it (and he’d been doing that for about ten years already). Working shifts on odd jobs couldn’t do it. His hobbies (fishing and writing, if anyone asked) certainly couldn’t do it. But being in the Metaverse finally made him feel like he was doing something actually worthwhile. 

It was _his_ world—and his burden. But it felt enough like a gift that most of the time he could ignore the cost of coming in. 

Here, in the relatively normal expanses of the Metaverse, he was free—limited only by his own thoughts. He clambered up the side of the impressive mansion, always finding a foothold, always making his way slowly, steadily higher, without the fear of falling or dying. There was no death in the Metaverse. There was no permanent injury. Here, above all places, he was safe, even in the darkest depths of the most twisted people’s minds. 

Which was part of why he hated Shido’s Palace so much.

But he wasn’t here to think about that. He was here to take his mind off things. To help. 

Heaving himself up, over a vivid red balcony, he glanced upwards. Only about three floors left. He didn’t have far to go. 

Darting around the door, he stared down the passageway—a Shadow patrolling not far from him. Ah, it was so easy in places like this. He dodged behind furniture, creeping, staying always just out of sight until—

He leapt onto the creature, tearing off its mask before it even understood what was happening. Instantly its solid form liquidated, turning molten and shifting into a new form. 

Akira was already flicking through his Personas, waiting for the creature to fully take shape. Ah. Weak to fire. He felt for Queen Mab, already lurking in the back of his mind, waiting to be chosen. With a snap of his fingers, she was there, and fire exploded from his fingertips, boiling the Shadow where it stood. Had Akira been a more empathetic person he’d have felt guilty, but he did not. The Shadows would find peace. And he needed to move forward. 

Agile, running like he was running on air, he ran the length of the corridor, barely making a sound as he dodged through a doorway, then another, taking the stairs two at a time as he ascended. The security was still low. He could afford to be a little careless. 

_We aren’t far now,_ Arsène helpfully reminded him, as he cleared another door. 

No, they weren’t. Not far at all. 

Keeping out of the Shadows’ line of sight, he ducked and he weaved his way around them—hapless creatures—until he finally emerged at the very top of the mansion. 

The roof, like much of the rest of the structure, was a vivid red. Circling around the building he’d emerged from, Akira found what he was looking for. Shibata had enough sense to at least try to hide it, it seemed. But the location gave him away. It always did. 

Behind the main body of the building extended out in a long, ominous red pathway, at the end of which was another, much small structure. Dark-painted walls contrasted with the light red wood. That had to be where the Treasure was. Had to. 

And no guards either. Nice. He was an idiot too. 

Akira hurried over to the building, pushing open dark, heavy doors, to reveal an equally dark inner chamber. Made sense—Shibata wouldn’t have a Palace if his desires weren’t as horribly distorted as they were. 

And there, hovering in the centre—the only source of light in the room—was the transparent, barely-there form of the unrealised Treasure. Shibata was somewhere on the floor below. 

_Are we getting him today?_

Akira checked his watch under a dark, dramatic sleeve. Only seven. The Palace hadn’t exactly been hard to get through. 

_Yeah. We are._

He felt Arsène’s assent to the idea tremble through him as it became locked in his mind. Time to enter the next stage of the heist. Realisation.

Closing the doors carefully behind him, Akira hurried back over to the main building, descending the stairs again, keeping his ears wide open for any sign or sound that Shibata might be lurking nearby. 

Ugh, there were too many walls in this place. Time to make an easier pathway through. 

Pushing away the walls he didn’t need and bending the building to suit him properly, he flickered through the main building, always unseen, thin walls between him and the Shadows at all times—thin enough for him to hear through. 

“Lord Shibata spends too much time out on that balcony,” hissed one Shadow.

“Why is he always in his bedroom?” speculated another. 

Ah, idiots. How he loved them. 

Rushing through to the main corridor, he descended the stairway once more to clamber onto the floor with Shibata’s bedroom. Not that he particularly _wanted_ to go into such a disgusting person’s bedroom, but...needs must. He needed to find Shibata’s Shadow in person to work his unique brand of magic. 

It wasn’t long before he found it—a dimly lit corridor, with dull, rusty red walls. Ugh, disgusting. _Disgusting._ But it was only a little longer...

He crouched, listening at the door, carefully making sure his ears did not come into contact with the wood. 

“Why am I doomed to be alone, even amongst all my wealth? Isn’t this what I was striving for all along? And yet...”

Oh god, he was monologuing. If he hadn’t been convinced before...

But was he actually monologuing _to_ anyone?

“...I can only tell these things to the sky...”

No. Good. Time for Akira to do his thing. 

Creeping closer to the door, he pressed one gloved hand against it, testing to see if it would creak as he pushed it open. No? Perfect. Angling his body so he’d be invisible behind the door, he slowly, gently pushed, barely making a sound as Shibata’s monologuing grew even louder. 

There he was, standing out on the balcony, facing away from Akira. 

He padded into the room, flexing his fingers, taking off one glove, then the other. He hated that his mind insisted on skin-to-skin contact, but that was just how it worked—so long as it got the job done. He was less than a metre away now, and Shibata seemed to sense something was wrong. He paused, his long robes flowing about him as he stared at the sky for a moment before turning around. A moment too long.

Akira pounced, grabbing Shitabata’s head in his hands before he even knew what was happening, tapping into the structure, the fibres of his mind that had created this strange world, then reaching—reaching out into reality. Shibata’s Shadow stopped struggling as Akira forced his way into his conscious mind, tearing at the walls he tried to erect to stop himself from seeing the truth. 

Then he saw through Shibata’s eyes. 

A darkened club. Minions skulking around the edges of the room as he sat back in a comfortable chair. Some of them looked afraid. It must be the expression on his face.

_Who are you?_ a terrified voice whispered. _What is this? What have you done to me?_

_You did this,_ Akira replied, forcing him to gaze at the flashes of red and white—the skeleton of his horrible mansion. Y _ou created this place. And now I’m going to destroy it—every miserable, corrupted desire you ever acted upon will vanish from your mind. You’ll never be the man you once were. I’m cracking you open, Kenzo Shibata. Soon the whole world will bear witness to the things you’ve tried to hide for so long._

_No!_ Shibata protested. _I’ll do anything, just don’t destroy such a beautiful place!_

Ah. So he’d seen it properly then. 

_It’s already too late._

And with that he let go of Shibata, clambering directly up the wall and making a beeline for where the Treasure would now be fully realised. He had less than a minute until Shibata’s Shadow—or more accurately, Shibata himself—regained consciousness, and around five minutes to take the Treasure out of the Palace before it’s complete collapse. 

He tore across the roof, even as guards began manifesting on all sides. Didn’t matter. He could get away. 

Sprinting across the narrow rooftop path, he collided with the wooden doors, coming face to face with the very thing he’d been looking for. A looking glass. How interesting. Not that he had time to admire it. 

He grabbed it, holding it close to his chest as he sprinted back out of the room—only to be greeted by three Shadows, bearing him down. 

He _could_ take them if he really wanted to, but more would only come up to take their place. He needed out. Now. 

Running back around the side of the building, he fished his grappling hook out of his pocket. In less than a second, he had it fastened, and then he was in freefall, already feeling for a flashpoint. Didn’t matter if he was in midair, he just had to get out—

There.

Then he was tumbling into the street, the roar of a collapsing Palace (and possibly a screaming Shibata) still echoing behind him as he pulled himself upright. 

The Treasure was still gripped safely in his hand. A brief glance told him it looked a lot like some childhood love letter. Nothing for his eyes, to say the least. It would be stored in his Metaverse attic just like all the rest. 

He sighed, stowing it in his jacket. His heart was still racing. 

_We did it,_ said Arsène, his deep, steady voice helping keep Akira fully upright. _He’ll confess within a month._

“Yes,” whispered Akira, his throat still dry from running. “We did it alright.”

_I think that’s enough excitement for now. You should rest after such exertion._

And for once, Akira found himself completely agreeing with him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Sorry, this one might be a little slow—it is mostly Akira himself trying to waste time, after all! But I thought it was important to establish a little more clearly some of the ways he acquires his targets—and indeed, how _he_ manages to brainwash people without the aid of any calling cards. Suffice to say, he got some very useful powers when he entered the Metaverse!


	13. Calling Cards

**Sunday 5th June**

He really should have predicted it would be today. It was the last day of the exhibition, after all. But somehow it still took him by surprise.

He was walking through Shibuya when it happened, so focused on getting to his destination he might not have noticed it at all, if he hadn’t briefly glanced up at the huge screens placed all around the plaza. And there he was. Madarame.

All at once the noise and the bustle of Shibuya seemed to fade away, the world coming to a standstill as he stood, staring at the screen. It was time. He didn’t always witness the breakdowns his brainwashing caused—in fact, _most_ of the time he didn’t—but on the few occasions he _had_ witnessed it...he always knew. Something about the look in their eyes, their manner as the change fully washed over them, the way their posture changed...he always knew when it was going to happen. Knew as though he were standing there himself, watching their soul crumble into bits.

As much as they deserved, usually, but still...it stirred something inside him—a deep distaste he seldom felt otherwise. Being rendered comatose was one thing. Having all that you are expunged and collapsed into a feeble shell as you come to terms with the terrible things you’ve done is something else entirely. Akira wouldn’t say that he felt strictly ‘guilty’ for doing what he did, but...he did hate watching it. That was for damn sure. 

But he couldn’t quite tear himself away. 

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, motionless, watching as Madarame crumpled and collapsed under the weight of his own guilt, the predatory look in his eyes that Akira had seen in the gallery that day completely vanished. Watching as tears poured down his old, lined face. Watching as something essential seemed to crack behind his eyes—perhaps one last vestige of his quiet rebellion against the rules of society—distorted, and then gone completely. Madarame might not be comatose, but his soul? His soul was still gone. Buried somewhere deep and dark, never to rebel ever again. 

Akira felt nauseous. 

He found himself thinking, as he had on almost every occasion he had to witness the last breaths of some brainwashed fool, that if someone tried to take _him_ out using the Metaverse, he’d prefer to be rendered a vegetable before ever being consigned to that fate. It was not a kindness. Whatever those fools who’d done it thought.

As he stared, stared like watching a train crash in slow motion, the image stilled and the anchor began summarising what had happened. Madarame was to be put in prison, and...and... 

A calling card? 

He blinked, suddenly realising that he’d been standing frozen for what must have been a good ten minutes. A calling card? A real...actual calling card? So was that how...?

Of course, it all made sense—Ohya had said the same thing—notices pinned up all over the school walls, threatening to take Kamoshida’s heart. Now a calling card from the ‘Phantom Thieves’ had been found at Madarame’s residence. That was how they were working the trick. Sending their victims cards with details of how they were going to steal their desires. It _could_ work. 

True, it would be more difficult to pull on some of the tougher, more disbelieving types, but for people like Madarame and Kamoshida, already fully aware of their crimes...it made sense. 

It also meant a _considerable_ amount of trouble. 

If they had to leave calling cards like this at every damned scene, their media presence was going to skyrocket—what’s more, they might even get blamed for _Akira’s_ projects—which wasn’t right at all. And if his works started to get blown up too, thanks to the influence of the so-called Phantom Thieves... 

Oh god, this was fucking dreadful. 

This was obviously what that stupid demon had meant when it had begun taunting him about the Phantom Thieves’ potential notoriety. If they kept on doing this...it would really only take one more case for them to blow up properly. The police likely already knew about the incident with Kamoshida, and combined with Madarame they’d be very suspicious anyway. But three incidents? They’d be out for blood. And not just the Phantom Thieves’ blood...

This couldn’t be happening to him. He couldn’t breathe. The world seemed to be contorting into a long, dark tunnel...

“Akira!” 

Someone grabbed him by the shoulders. 

“Akira is that you? Are you alright?”

He found himself staring into deeply concerned grey-blue eyes as Yusuke shook him by the shoulders. 

Of course he’d be nearby...he’d have wanted to see this too. 

“I’m fine,” Akira insisted, trying to regain his bearings, though it was hard with the heat and the noise... “I just...got a bit overheated for a moment there.”

Yusuke sighed and let go of his shoulders, obviously not completely convinced. 

“More likely you’ve been overworking yourself again,” he said, disapprovingly. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“Quite sure,” said Akira, breathing out slowly. Yes, the Phantom Thieves were looking like trouble but...the world wasn’t ending just yet. He had time to panic later. For now...

“What about you?” he asked, noticing that Yusuke’s eyes looked a bit red themselves. “That was Madarame on TV just now, wasn’t it? Are you alright? I know it must have been a shock to hear him say all that—I know it was to me...” 

“Ah, yes,” said Yusuke, with a weary smile. He looked tired. Akira couldn’t blame him. “It did startle me. But I had heard from him earlier that he intended to turn himself in to the police, so it wasn’t as great of a shock as you might imagine.”

“He...did?” asked Akira, pretending to be dumbfounded. “But...well, I would never have guessed that someone like him would...”

“Yes, I agree,” said Yusuke, somewhat pensively. “It seems hard to think he would come to such a decision on his own, but...that appears to have been what happened. It is odd. But he’s been acting strangely these past few weeks.”

“You haven’t told me that,” said Akira, injecting a note of disappointment into his voice. And he was kind of...genuinely disappointed Yusuke hadn’t mentioned it before anyway, so...

“Ah, I suppose I haven’t,” said Yusuke, flushing slightly. “I’m sorry for not mentioning it sooner. I admit, it slipped my mind since so much else was happening.”

“It’s alright,” said Akira, waving away his concern. “I’m glad things are moving forward. But...ah, what will you do now Madarame’s going to be imprisoned? You were living in his house, right?” 

“Yes,” said Yusuke, quietly. “I’ve been trying not to think about it. I’m not sure where I will go—though...I do have rooms I could take in Kosei thanks to my scholarship. Perhaps I will stay there now Madarame is gone.”

Gone... Accurate way of putting it. Yusuke seemed to understand that, at least. That was...something. 

“Well, let me know if you ever have any troubles, I’m always here to listen.”

Yusuke smiled warmly. “Same to you, Akira. We are friends, after all. It’s only fair if it goes both ways, right?”

“Right,” said Akira, though of course, the less Yusuke knew of his troubles the better. He checked his watch. Ugh, almost one o’clock already. “Sorry, I have to get going. I’ll be late for my shift, otherwise.”

Yusuke clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Akira...”

“I’m okay,” said Akira, flashing Yusuke what he hoped was a reassuring grin. “I _like_ working. Gives me something to do.”

“As long as it isn’t too much,” said Yusuke. “See you tomorrow, then.”

“I’ll be there,” promised Akira.

* * *

**Monday 6th March**

Akira hadn’t made any progress on his thinking to try and stave off the Phantom Thieves when he came into class that morning, despite having stayed up until almost two in the morning. And it seemed he wasn’t the only one who’d had a rough night. Yusuke looked tired and distracted, not even noticing Akira until he was practically right in front of him.

“Everything okay?” asked Akira, causing Yusuke to jolt where he sat.

“Oh, ah, yes, I am,” said Yusuke, clearly trying to get it together. “You just surprised me a little, that’s all.”

“Looks like you’ve had a rough night,” said Akira, sitting down in front of him and leaning over the back of his chair. “I guess the dorms take some getting used to, huh?”

“Indeed,” sighed Yusuke, frowning deeply. “I hadn’t anticipated how _loud_ it would be.” 

“Well, that’s Kosei students for you,” said Akira, smiling sheepishly. 

“I suppose our school _is_ known for its eccentricities,” sighed Yusuke. “But you’re right, I got hardly any sleep last night. I’m beginning to think I might go insane if I have to put up with this all the time.”

“Is there no way to filter it out?” Akira asked sympathetically.

“None that I can think of.”

Mr Murakami appeared in the doorway, and the class began to immediately settle down as a reaction to his presence. 

“We can talk more at lunch,” said Akira, and Yusuke nodded mutely. 

* * *

“I’ve never felt so tired,” said Yusuke, miserably.

He really did seem to be taking it hard—though with Yusuke’s somewhat sensitive personality, Akira probably should have expected it. He offered Yusuke some of the coffee he’d brought to school from the Leblanc and Yusuke took it gratefully.

“Thank you, Akira,” he said, after taking a deep draught. “Hopefully that should wake me up slightly.”

“Do you want to go and buy some earplugs after school?” asked Akira, taking back his thermos.

“Earplugs,” murmured Yusuke, pensively. “Yes, I suppose that might work.”

“Works for most people who can’t stand the noise,” said Akira. 

Yusuke flushed slightly, suddenly avoiding Akira’s eyes. But why...oh.

“Listen, ah, if you can’t afford them then I can buy some for you,” he said, remembering quite suddenly that without Madarame Yusuke’s budgeting situation would be even more dire than it already was. “Think of it as a...gift of sorts.”

“I don’t want your charity, Akira,” said Yusuke, stiffly. 

Augh! Akira understood though—he had to—he still remembered vividly when he lived back at home, when his parents barely gave him enough money to eat, how he’d bristle whenever the well-meaning local librarian would offer to buy him a sandwich. He knew the anger, the shame of not being able to afford it... 

“Well then, how about we find you a job?” he suggested, thinking on his feet.

“A...job?” asked Yusuke, as though the thought had never occurred to him. “Like the ones you do?”

“Yes,” said Akira, enthusiastically. “Everyone in the city’s desperate for part-timers, y’know. And you can pretty much choose your hours if you emphasise you’re a student.”

“I see,” said Yusuke, resting his chin on his hand. “I hadn’t thought of that. But you bring up a good idea, Akira. It hadn’t occurred to me I could try to get a job on top of my studies.”

“It really isn’t that strenuous,” said Akira. “Especially if you’re just working as a cashier or something. In fact, I know a 7/11 in Shibuya that just had an employee quit...” 

Yusuke laughed, sitting back in his seat. “You have quite the extensive set of connections, don’t you, Akira? I almost feel slightly jealous.”

“Ah, well, I’m a busybody. Everyone knows it. And besides, if I can use it to help out a friend, it’s all good right?”

“I appreciate the suggestion,” said Yusuke, smiling warmly at him. “Come to think of it, don’t stores sometimes give their employees discounts on some of the goods they sell?”

“Sure do,” said Akira. “Even give stuff away for free sometimes, if they have too much perishable stock.”

Yusuke’s eyes grew wide. Akira had thought that might convince him. 

“You may have hit upon a very good idea,” he said, straightening up slightly. “Which store is it you speak of?”

“I’ll show you after school,” said Akira. “It’s on the main high-street so it’s not exactly hard to get to. We can pick up one of their adverts from the subway station on the way there.”

“That sounds ideal,” said Yusuke, looking much happier than he had at the beginning of lunch. 

Hah—mission accomplished. 

For now, anyway.

* * *

**Friday 10th June**

He still hadn’t gotten any further with his plan to hinder the Phantom Thieves. Every time he thought about how he might best warn them off, a kind of horrific existential dread fell over him that seemed near impossible to shake. It was just...so much more immense of a task than he’d anticipated. To think that a bunch of teenagers would pose such a threat to him, and with so little warning...

Yusuke had invited him to hang out at a café after school, and he could hardly refuse...even if his main intention was to continue gathering information about the ever-irritating Phantom Thieves. 

“So,” said Akira, once they both had their drinks, “how’s the new job treating you?”

“Quite well,” said Yusuke. “It took me a little while to work out how the cash register worked, but now I think I’m doing just fine. My manager seems pleased with my ability to memorise where the bar-codes are on each item.”

“It’s a valuable skill when cashiering,” said Akira, sipping his coffee. 

“Indeed,” said Yusuke, smiling. “I’ve had some rather...interesting characters come in while I was working too, but I think I was able to deal with them.”

“Unfortunately difficult customers are part of the job too,” said Akira, sighing. “But I’m glad it didn’t rattle you too much. It’s not affecting your studies too much, is it?”

“No, not at all,” said Yusuke. “In fact it’s helped my people-watching immensely.”

“Ah,” said Akira, grinning. “I’d thought it might. I’m glad it’s given you a new perspective.”

“Yes,” said Yusuke. “And I’ve obtained those earplugs you recommended too. It’s helped with the noise a fair bit, though I think I’m getting used to it now anyway.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Yusuke seemed to be settling into life post-Madarame very well, which was a relief. He’d been worried he might take it quite hard, but it seemed Yusuke was intent on surpassing his expectations at every turn. 

“How are your other friends doing?” asked Akira, introducing the topic that had been troubling him the most recently. “Are you still talking to the students at Shujin?”

“Ah, yes,” said Yusuke, though he looked a little surprised by the change in topic. “I still meet up with them from time to time. Not as regularly as I talk to you, mind.”

Aw, that was kind of sweet. Though...Akira probably would have been quite jealous if Yusuke _had_ been spending more time with them, so perhaps he was just being tactful. 

“How is it you managed to make friends with a minor celebrity in the first place?” asked Akira, remembering he’d seen Akechi on TV again that very evening. “I can’t imagine Goro Akechi is someone you run into by chance.”

Yusuke smiled wanly at that. “Well, you have me there. It’s true I met Ryuji and Ann before I met Akechi. He appears to be a friend of theirs, though I admit I’m still not sure as to how it happened.”

Akira had a slight idea, based on what he’d seen of them so far.

“I don’t know, Ryuji and Ann seem to be the gregarious types, from what I remember,” said Akira. “They probably stuck to him like glue until he couldn’t shake them off.”

Yusuke chuckled. “I think you may well be right about that.”

“Is everything going alright with them?”

Yusuke nodded. “I believe they had their social studies trip a few days ago. Or perhaps they’re still having it? I can’t quite remember. In any case, they’re doing fine.”

Hmm, that still didn’t tell him much about the status of the Phantom Thieves...

 _Yusuke isn’t going to tell you,_ Arsène insisted quietly. _I’ve told you, we need to take more drastic measures._

That was all very well, but taking more drastic measures could ending being more...well, drastic than Arsène might imagine. Besides, he’d need to find out what they were doing first, and to do that... 

Ugh. It was going to be another long fucking week.

* * *

**Monday 13th June**

He’d made a conscious effort to stay out of Mementos after witnessing Madarame’s breakdown. He strongly suspected that it had probably caused the next door to open, and between worrying about Shido and Wakaba, he simply wasn’t in a position to deal with it. Unfortunately, his rules being what they were, he wasn’t able to ignore it for long. 

He had three more targets he wanted to deal with, and to deal with them...he’d need to go by the door at some point. He was dreading it. Really, actively dreading it. 

But it needed to be done. 

He’d decided to stop off on one of the earlier floors and fight his way down rather than step off onto the platform directly. His justification was that if there was an obstacle in the way first, he had some time to prepare himself for seeing the door open. Supposedly. Of course, the truth was that he simply didn’t want to see it. But he was almost there now—just another set of escalators and...

Wait. 

Voices?

In less than a second, he was concealed at the top of the stairs, crouched near the entrance to the escalator, listening closely. 

“So, it is open,” came Yusuke’s voice from just below. 

Ugh. He hated being reminded Yusuke was a part of their little gang. It would be so much easier if he wasn’t...

“Yeah, now we can go deeper inside!” said Ryuji.

“I wonder...” said Akechi, almost quietly enough that Akira didn’t hear it. 

“Well it’s all to help Mona, so it has to be good, right?” said Ann.

Mona? They were helping _Mona_ by opening the doors? Now that _was_ suspicious...

“Yeah!” said Morgana, and Akira could almost envision him jumping on the spot. “We’ll definitely get my memories back if we keep up like this!” 

Mona had lost his memories? He hadn’t mentioned that before...assuming he was telling the truth, that was. 

“We’ll need to go deeper if we’re to have any hope of finding a new target anyway,” said Akechi, carelessly. “So let’s go. We can’t hang about here forever, you know.” 

Akira heard footsteps leading away...further below. 

Well, with them in here there was no way he could go for anyone on the third layer—the risk was simply too high. But they didn’t seem to know how to use the trains, so he’d probably be safer a little bit deeper. 

That said...they were searching for a new target, huh? That could only bode poorly for him—though if they were trying to look for one in Mementos they were on the wrong track anyway, so he probably still had some time. It wasn’t like they were just going to stumble onto a half-formed Palace and know how to deal with it straight away. Or at least, so he hoped. He still had the upper hand in this exchange—he still had ultimate control of the Metaverse, but...he’d have to keep his eye out for Palaces. They couldn’t target any more without a high risk of exposure, so there was only one solution. 

He’d have to take them out first. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, Akira's worked out how the calling cards work now! Unfortunately for him, that can only mean bad things in future, so he's going to have a lot on his plate trying to deal with the potential fallout. We'll see how it goes!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


	14. Exhaustion

**Friday 17th June**

He was...exhausted. Maybe it was a stupid idea from the start, but with the situation as it was, he couldn’t take any chances about the Phantom Thieves discovering a new target to brainwash. It was absolutely incredible the number of people in Tokyo that had Palaces when you really went looking for them. In the three days since he’d discovered they were looking for new targets, he’d done a quick sweep for obvious culprits visible even in the normal Metaverse, and very quickly discovered something unsettling: there were more of them. A lot more of them. More by far than there had been when he’d first arrived in Tokyo almost two years ago. 

He remembered, not long after taking up residence in the Leblanc, spending an entire weekend roaming the city inside the Metaverse—taking in the sights and the splendour from the relative safety of his own little parallel dimension—trying to memorise the streets he now frequented. On that occasion, he recalled seeing about six Palaces intruding into the main Metaverse by virtue of their size—and that was even after peering down at Tokyo as a whole from the Sky Tower. 

Now that same vantage point allowed him to spot at least fifty. And that was _just_ from there. Some had only just begun intruding into the Metaverse—not visible unless you were on street-level, and knew the warning signs before you wandered into them. And Akira knew the warning signs. 

He’d cleared out three—one a day since he’d discovered them, but he knew that realistically he’d barely made a dent in the sea of depravity that now seemed to crawl about him. So perhaps it was a stupid idea. But he was at a loss as to what to do otherwise. 

Now that they could get into the Metaverse, see for themselves the state Tokyo was in, it was only a matter of time before they selected a new target—and with it brought themselves only more fame—and more danger. He felt sick. Was there really nothing he could do to stop them? There had to be some way out...

And now it was Friday he had something else to deal with—one of the Palaces visible even from the Sky Tower.

He tried to put on a slightly less battered aspect as he walked into Wakaba’s lab.

“Akira.” Wakaba smiled at him as he walked in. “Ready for your next journey into hell?”

Ha. Accurate.

“Just about,” he sighed, sloughing off his school-bag. “Got the gear all ready for me?”

“You know it.”

There had been no major changes in Wakaba’s Palace since his last journey in there when he’d met her Shadow, which was pretty much the only silver lining of the last few days. Hopefully that meant that whatever it was that was putting her under pressure was beginning to dissipate a bit. Hopefully. 

She proffered the usual earpiece and bracers, and quickly strapped them on.

“Now, Akira,” she said, her formerly playful tone taking on a warning note. “Do be careful this time, alright? I don’t want to be clearing up some detached finger when you come out.”

“At least fingers are relatively easy to reattach,” said Akira, but Wakaba just shot him a quelling look. “Alright, alright. I’ll be careful.”

“Good,” she said, smiling. “Now go for it.”

A flashpoint later and he was standing on one of the mid-levels of the Prison—mercifully with no guards in sight. 

He darted through the familiar corridors and quickly exited the Palace, his body already aching from the exertion of doing three prior Palace-breaks in as many days. And as he ran through the Metaverse, heading for the Diet Building, another unfamiliar, unpleasant feeling washed over him: guilt. He’d rushed those Palaces—he knew he had. Hadn’t taken enough time to work out what was wrong—how best to resolve the situation that had caused it. He’d made sure they were all criminals, sure; he was sensible enough to do that much, but beyond that—deciding to go for a coma or to brainwash them outright? Rendering them comatose was just...easier. 

Easier, quicker, deadlier: the holy trinity of laziness. It took him back to the old days of trying to clumsily figure out how to steal someone’s Treasure back in Itoiyama. Made him feel...incompetent, almost. 

But he’d done it now. He couldn’t take it back—couldn’t restore their souls to life anymore than a surgeon could operate someone’s silent heart to beat again. They were gone. The past was the past. And he... He had more important things to worry about right now. 

Target number three: the TV station president. Liked hanging out in the casino. Useful to Shido for, well...obvious reasons. Akira had yet to scout out the casino area of the ship properly—partly because he’d been distracted on previous visits, and partly because he just hated the atmosphere. There was just something about the energy of casinos that rubbed him the wrong way—a kind of dazed, unconscious, lotus-eater-esque unreality to them that pissed him off, even with his mask dulling the lights and filtering out some of the uncomfortable atmosphere. 

But this was where the TV station president was, so this was where Akira was. Unfortunately. 

The only good thing about the casino was that it offered him plenty of places to hide—behind slot machines and benches, among the elaborate chandeliers—hanging off a balcony. But not among the guests—of which there were far too many. As ever, his mask inhibited him from trying to attempt any notion of fitting in with the shadowy cognitions that flooded the casino. 

He spied out his target from above. 

An old man—greying hair, grey, sober suit—quite at odds with the colourful casino he was sitting in. He was at one of the machines—transfixed by the roll of the die. It was interesting Shido had put him in here. Akira had done a bit of research about his fake-targets within Shido’s Palace. Most of them made sense; Ooe was known to frequent fancy restaurants, and the disgraced noble he’d taken out was certainly a known womaniser. The IT president he was supposed to target next seemed to be a bit of a recluse, so he was probably locked up in his room, and the mysterious Cleaner was probably patrolling the ship by virtue of his job. 

Which is why it was interesting to Akira that, for all the man’s other flaws, arrogance clearly among them, the TV station president was _not_ a known gambler. 

Sure, maybe it had been covered up, but there was usually at least a suggestion of that. So perhaps he gambled in other ways? With people’s lives, perhaps, given the nature of his job, and Shido’s association with him? It was curious. And since it was curious, he was being cautious. Not least since he felt he’d been injured enough on his previous escapades. 

The first time he’d been bitten by the very thing attacking him, the second he’d been ambushed by some predator waiting on the side-lines. He couldn’t afford to have that happen today. Today, he was going to deal with this and get out _without_ being injured. 

He knew how to get out of the casino, knew that with a few sharp turns he’d be able to jump out of a window and into the proper Metaverse, where no injury should trouble him. He’d gotten it down to the smallest of details. Which was why he was lining up the shot very, very carefully. He had his sights set on the man’s head. One shot from this distance—before he even had the opportunity to mutate—should be all he needed. 

He took one more deep breath. His heart was rattling in his chest. 

His finger squeezed the trigger. 

With an odd squishing sound, the gun went off, and the bullet embedded itself deep in the TV station president’s head. His form flickered, then vanished completely. Success. 

The other casino-goers didn’t seem to have noticed what had happened, too transfixed by their own games to spare a glance at their unfortunate fellow gambler as he met his demise. Akira crept down from his perch, approaching the empty seat slowly—carefully, padding over with feet as light as air—snatching his prize from where it sat on the man’s seat. 

He glanced around, carefully making sure none of the guards had seen him. No...it didn’t seem like it. He was in the clear. 

Dodging behind one machine, then the other, he crept out of the casino, and with a few delicate leaps made it up to the window he’d planned to use as his escape route earlier. 

Then he was falling, the air whipping past his face as he plummeted, the ship falling away and the Metaverse taking its place, and—

Strong, metallic-feeling arms grabbed him before he could reach the ground. Arsène held him close, flapping his wings dramatically before huffing and letting them both reach the floor. It took a moment for his Persona to release him completely, and Akira could sense Arsène’s disgruntlement without him having to say anything. Not that that stopped him, of course. 

“I am _not_ an emergency parachute,” he grumbled, folding his arms exasperatedly. 

“No,” said Akira, patting his arm bemusedly, “but you _are_ a lifesaver.”

_“Ugh.”_

Arsène didn’t have the capability to roll his eyes, but Akira was sure that if he could then he would.

“What’s going on in there?” Wakaba asked, crackling over the earpiece.

“It’s fine,” said Akira, raising his wrist-piece to his mouth. “I didn’t even get injured or anything! Aren’t you proud?”

Wakaba laughed exasperatedly. “Well that is _something,_ I’ll admit,” she sighed. “Are you going to come back now?”

“On my way over as we speak,” said Akira, before shutting it off.

“I’m glad you were more careful this time,” Arsène begrudgingly admitted as he hovered along beside him. “I don’t think you understand how stressful it is for me watching you, knowing everything’s real this time.”

“I understand,” said Akira. After all, how could he not? “And I _am_ trying to be careful, it’s just...”

“Hard. I know.”

Akira nodded silently. When the rules were all upside-down, it was hard to blame him for being confused. Still. He couldn’t afford to lose ground now. Not when he still had so much work to do. 

* * *

**Wednesday 22nd June**

“Akira!” groaned Futaba, hanging off his arm. “Why are you being so slow?” 

“Cut it out—I’m tired, alright?” he said, shaking her off his arm. 

And he _was_ tired. Exhausted, even. Between endless shifts to keep up with the rent, stalking the Metaverse day and night—looking for new targets—trying to keep tabs on the ever-irritating Phantom Thieves, he was almost always tired these days. And being dragged around by Futaba after another long, tiring school day, knowing he had another long, tiring shift coming up in just a few hours, and wishing more than anything he could just crawl home and get in a few more hours of sleep, really wasn’t helping matters. 

“Geez someone’s snappy,” she grumbled, giving him a dirty look. “I thought you’d _want_ to go to Jinbocho, being such a nerd and everything.”

“ _You’re_ the one who’s interested in books all of a sudden,” said Akira, narrowing his eyes. “Looking for a new volume on how to hack into every security camera in the world?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” said Futaba, pouting. 

It didn’t last long though, because one of the stores quickly caught her attention and she went off running to press her face up to the glass. Akira followed her wearily, feeling like every bone in his body was creaking in protest. 

“Oh, I bet they have it in there,” Futaba was muttering under her breath.

“Have what?” asked Akira, making her jump away from the glass.

“N-never you mind!” she insisted, her face going slightly red. “Isn’t there something you want to look for here too?”

Ordinarily, he’d have played along with her game, but right now he was just too cranky to bother.

“Nope,” he said, with a sharp smile. “I’m here as your beast of burden and your beast of burden only. What are you buying?” 

She flushed even harder. Was it really that embarrassing? Futaba had never exactly been shy about her interests in the past, even the fairly socially unusual ones. 

“I, um...” she said, clearly debating in her head whether or not to come clean about it. “I-I want to buy a book on shogi!”

Akira blinked. “Shogi? Do you play shogi?”

“Y-yeah!” she insisted. “It’s a great hobby—loads of smart people play it. It’s not embarrassing at all!” 

It sounded almost as though she was trying to convince herself as much as him. 

“But, uh, don’t you need two people to play shogi? I hope you aren’t planning on dragging me into this new hobby of yours.” But wait...maybe... “Or do you already have a secret partner? Is that what this is about?”

“Ugh!” groaned Futaba, finally going fully red. “Figured out in the first inning! How embarrassing...”

Akira smiled, exasperated. He might be tired but…he could put that aside for a moment if Futaba had finally managed to find herself a friend. “It’s not embarrassing at all. I’m glad you’ve made a friend to share hobbies with. Why are you so worried? Is it a boy or something?”

“No!” Futaba insisted, going even redder. “She’s in your year actually, so it should be more embarrassing to you not knowing who she is!”

Well that was a bit much. 

“I don’t know _all_ my classmates’ hobbies,” said Akira, raising his eyebrows. 

Futaba sighed, then took a deep breath, clearly trying to calm herself down. “Well, no, I know that, it’s just that she’s super famous so it doesn’t make sense that you wouldn’t have heard of her somehow.”

“Famous?” 

Akira wracked his brains—several of his classmates were famous in some capacity—it came with the eccentricities of Kosei as an institution, but keeping up with that sort of thing was a notable blank spot in his overall collection of information. Famous people as a whole were vaguely interesting to him, since they were more likely to have Palaces, but famous _teenagers_ were almost invariably of the hard-working, over-achieving, keeping-their-head down sorts; and as such they hardly ever entered his circle of interest. He thought he might have vaguely heard about there being a famous shogi player at their school, but beyond that...

“Ugh, you’re so embarrassing,” huffed Futaba, folding her arms. “You seriously haven’t heard of Hifumi Togo? Even though she’s in your year and everything?”

Hifumi Togo? 

“Ah, that would be a no,” said Akira, smiling bemusedly. “What can I say? I’m behind on celebrity news.” 

Futaba sighed, irritated as ever by his complete incapacity to keep up with the trends of teenage life. “I swear to god, you’re like a fifty-year-old trapped in some poor scrawny teenager’s body. Hifumi’s become really popular for hardly ever losing a match of shogi—she’s progressing really fast through the Female Shogi League!” 

“And you two are friends now?” asked Akira. 

“Well, kind of,” said Futaba, flushing again. “I was thinking about what you said about getting more friends, but most of the people in my year just seemed too...intense to hang out with all the time. But one lunch I saw her sitting all alone with her shogi board, so I decided to bite the bullet and go up and say hello. She looked really shocked when I did, like she’d never been expecting it, but once I introduced myself she seemed okay. Then she asked if I wanted to play a match with her and I guess...we _are_ kind of friends now.”

“So you want to buy this book to come up with some new strategies? That’s great,” said Akira, smiling. 

“She can’t go on beating me forever,” said Futaba, folding her arms defiantly. “Besides, I want to know more about the game lore and stuff—Hifumi gets super into it when she plays, and it looks really exciting!” 

“I see,” said Akira, still smiling. “Well in that case I’m happy to help you out.” 

“I knew you would be,” said Futaba, beaming. “I just...didn’t want Mom or Sojiro to find out because it’s kind of embarrassing being friends with a celebrity, y’know? And Hifumi’s really shy so I wouldn’t want them hassling her or anything.”

“It’s okay,” said Akira. “I get it. It can be our secret for now. But I’m sure they’d be thrilled to hear you made a friend, regardless of whether or not she’s famous.”

Futaba sighed. “Maybe you’re right. I’ve just gotta...summon up the courage to say it.”

“I’ll be here the whole time.”

Futaba grinned at him. “I know.”

* * *

**Friday 24th June**

Akira felt dead on his feet. He’d been non-stop almost the whole week, and there still seemed to be no movement from the Phantom Thieves—well, none that he could spot obviously, anyway—so he’d been searching out Palace after Palace, trying to analyse whose they were, why they’d appeared—what best to do about them (if anything). It was brutal work, and he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so tired. 

But he had other commitments. And, like clockwork, Friday had rolled around again, consigning him to another few hours of prowling through the hell-dimension that was Shido’s ship.

He walked into Wakaba’s lab trying not to look as much like a drowned rat as he felt.

If the wince she gave upon spotting him was any indication, he had not succeeded. 

He wandered over to her, setting his bag down on the side and holding out his hands for the usual earpiece and bracers. To his surprise she just sighed and leant back in her chair. 

“You are _not_ going in like that,” she said, glaring at him severely. 

It took him a moment to work out what she meant.

“What...?”

She rolled her eyes, sitting upright again. “I said you aren’t going in, dummy. Do you think I’ve gone crazy or something? You look like you’re about to pass out—I’m not sending you into such a difficult place when you’re barely able to stand up.”

“I am...fully awake, and able to go into the Palace,” Akira insisted...the effect somewhat mitigated by the fact he’d had to think pretty hard to even formulate the sentence.

Wakaba closed her eyes in silent exasperation. “Kiddo, I’ve worked enough all-nighters myself to see you’re not all there today. You’re not going in, case closed.”

“But—”

“We can try again next week. When you’re actually well-rested.” 

Akira pinched the bridge of his nose, the pain slightly erasing the fuzziness that had been beginning to creep in around his faculties. It was all very well Wakaba insisting he should rest, but if he wasn’t doing Shido’s Palace today he should at least try to do _something..._

He heard another sigh from Wakaba. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

He blinked, then looked up to face her. 

“I’ve got...lots of stuff going on,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “So if you won’t let me go in today then...I should probably get on with something or other else I’ve got to do.”

Wakaba pursed her lips. “You really can’t take no for an answer, huh?” She frowned, considering something. “Well then, how about this: you crash out on that couch over in the corner, and once my shift’s over, _then_ you can help me out with something.” 

Akira narrowed his eyes. “Something like what?”

“So suspicious! Nothing illegal, just something that will help with my work. You’d be doing me a favour by coming along you know—probably as much as whatever else it is you’ve got planned.” 

Akira sighed, glancing at the couch Wakaba had pointed out. It _did_ look comfy. And God he was tired... Trying to stumble back onto the subway to do something else really sounded like hell right now.

“Fine,” he said, stumbling over and propping his feet up on the couch. “But you’d better wake me up when you finish.”

“I promise,” said Wakaba, sincerely. “Now get some sleep.”

Akira laid back on the couch and closed his eyes, feeling at once as though half the weight on him was mysteriously falling away...

The next moment he was being shaken. 

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead, it’s the end of my shift.”

Akira blinked slowly as the world came back into focus. Right, he’d fallen asleep in Wakaba’s lab. She’d wanted him to help her with something, right?

“What is it?” he asked, surfacing groggily. 

“Time to go,” said Wakaba, packing her bag. “We’re heading over to Akihabara.”

Akira narrowed his eyes as he pushed himself upright. “Is the ‘work’ you were talking about your actual work, or is this something for Futaba?”

Wakaba chuckled. “No, it’s for my actual work, thank you. Though I know Futaba spends a lot of time there too, of course.” 

Hmm, if they were going to Akihabara, then...

“Is this for machine parts or...”

“Hold your horses, I’ll explain when we get there,” said Wakaba, helping him up from the couch. 

She paused, frowning at him for a second, before reaching out and ruffling his hair.

“Hey!” protested Akira, flattening his hands over his head.

“It looked weird,” Wakaba supplied, before turning on her heel and heading out of the room.

Akira sighed and headed quickly after her. 

“Feel a bit better now?” she asked as they left the building. “You looked exhausted when you came in. What have you been doing?”

Akira sighed deeply. “Too much. Work, mostly.”

A small frown creased her face. “Sojiro isn’t making you pay that much.”

“No, it’s just...I’ve had a lot of other things going on lately too. My _actual_ work, and so on.”

“Ah,” she said, narrowing her eyes at the implication. “I see. You’re keeping up with that, are you?”

“Lately, I’ve had no choice,” he said through gritted teeth. “But it’s fine, I’ve...mostly been able to stay on top of it.”

Wakaba looked doubtful, but didn’t say anything. 

“I’ll be alright for next week, I promise.”

“Good,” she said, calmly.

It wasn’t too long of a train journey to Akihabara from Wakaba’s lab, and soon they were amidst the bustling streets of the electric city, the thrum of activity thick in the air. 

“So where do we go from here?” asked Akira.

“Not too far,” said Wakaba. “Follow me.”

She led him down several different streets—mostly still down the more populated ones, thank goodness—and arrived in front of a small, but professional-looking store. 

“So, what’s the job?” asked Akira, leaning over to try to get a look inside—but Wakaba quickly reached out and yanked him away.

“I often get parts here for my lab work,” she said, leaning in, keeping her voice low and quiet. “The people here don’t know Shido, but he knows I come here. I don’t want anyone in there to see you helping me, understand? The less they know about you the better.”

“I understand,” said Akira, leaning against the wall in a fake-casual manner. “I’ll be out here waiting.”

“Thank you,” said Wakaba. “I’ll just need help carrying the boxes back to the lab, alright?”

“All clear,” said Akira.

She smiled at him, then disappeared inside.

Akira sighed and rolled his shoulders. They were still a bit sore from where he’d fallen asleep on the couch. Wakaba had a point—he’d been going too hard lately—he couldn’t sustain this level of activity for much longer...but at the same time the Phantom Thieves were too much of a threat to ignore. What to do, what to do? 

He was just pondering this question when the universe apparently decided to mock him even further.

“Hey, isn’t that him?” asked a voice from nearby.

He would have ignored it, but it seemed terribly close...

“It is! Hey!” 

He turned to look at who was making such a ruckus, only to find two teenagers almost barrelling into him. 

“It’s you, isn’t it?” asked the girl, on him so quickly he almost didn’t realise who it was.

“You’re...Takamaki-san, right?” he asked, still feeling a little dazed.

“Yes!” she cried, lifting her sunglasses. “Akira, Yusuke’s friend, right? We thought we spotted you!”

“Hey,” said the other person, raising his hand in an attempt at a more casual greeting.

Akira wracked his brains. “And...Sakamoto-san, right?”

“Oh, you can just call me Ryuji, it’s fine!” said Ryuji, grinning nervously.

“And you can call me Ann!”

Now he had the opportunity to observe them both a bit more closely, he saw that they were both loaded up with shopping bags.

“Decided to go on an after-school shopping spree?” he asked bemusedly. “Nice to see you again, by the way. Sorry I left so abruptly last time—work’s work—you know how it is.”

“Nah, I can’t blame you,” sighed Ryuji. “Akechi wasn’t exactly putting on the usual simper. Not that that’s much better than his actual personality, but it puts people off a bit less.”

“Ryuji!” cried Ann, lightly pushing his shoulder. “You shouldn’t be so rude about him! He’s our friend—even if he is a bit lacking in social skills.”

“Lacking in common decency more like.”

“Ugh!” Ann rolled her eyes fiercely. “Anyway, what are you doing here Akira? Did you come to do some shopping too? I can’t say you stuck me as a particularly techie sort of guy when we last met.”

“We only met the dude for like three seconds, how were we supposed to guess that?” protested Ryuji.

“Hey, I know a tech-head when I see one!” Ann countered.

“She’s right, I’m afraid,” said Akira, smiling bemusedly at Ryuji. “I’m a bit useless when it comes to anything more complicated than a smartphone. My family, on the other hand...”

“Oh, are you here with your folks?” asked Ryuji, curiously. “Yusuke hasn’t mentioned anything about them.”

“Ah,” said Akira, flushing as he realised what he’d accidentally just revealed. “Well, you see, they aren’t exactly—”

But he didn’t get to finish, because the next moment, Wakaba walked out of the store.

“Right, that’s everything,” she said, completely missing the presence of two new people, preoccupied by the number of boxes she was carrying. 

They were piled somewhat precariously...

“Here, let me help,” he said, quickly rushing over and relieving her of the ones that seemed imminently about to fall over.

“Ugh, thanks,” she muttered, repositioning the ones she was able to hold. “Sorry, I do _usually_ get Sojiro to help with this, but he’s busy today... Oh, who’re these people? Are they friends of yours?”

Her gaze had alighted on Ann and Ryuji, who were looking at her just as keenly. Good grief, this could scarcely get more awkward.

“Oh, is this your mom?” asked Ann, really cementing the thing.

God, how was he supposed to explain this? He didn’t really want to bring up his criminal record right now, not considering the effect it might produce, but—

“In all but blood, yes,” said Wakaba, taking matters neatly out of his hands and making his face feel so hot he thought it might actually catch fire. 

He decided to strategically move the boxes to cover most of his face so they couldn’t see him blushing quite so hard. 

“Are you Akira’s friends?” asked Wakaba. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” 

“Oh, only sort of,” said Ann, mercifully improving the situation somewhat. “More like...friends of friends—but it’s been a while since we’ve seen him so we decided to catch up.”

“Y-yeah, what she said,” said Ryuji, who thankfully sounded a little flustered too.

“Ah, in that case I’m sorry to cut your reunion short, but I do need Akira’s help with something today,” said Wakaba. “But I’m sure he could easily come back here afterwards if you wanted to talk more...?”

“No, it’s fine, we wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” said Ann, who was rising in his estimation by the second. “We’ll just trade numbers, that will make things easier!”

Or not.

Akira reluctantly fished his phone out of his pocket with one hand, knowing there was no point arguing the situation now. Besides, it might be useful to him in future if he did have their numbers and any emergency with Yusuke came up. A few seconds later he had them both down as contacts in his phone.

“There, now we have your number!” said Ann, beaming at him as though that wasn’t the most menacing thing he’d heard all day.

“See you around,” he managed to say, before quickly turning tail and fleeing the scene before matters could get much worse.

“They seemed nice,” said Wakaba, as they staggered onto the train. “It’s unusual to see you hanging around with such bright personalities.” 

“Yeah, well, it balances out,” said Akira, still weighed down with packages.

“You should spend more time with your friends. I think it would do you good to do some more social things from time to time.”

Perhaps. But for his money, spending more time with any of them was only going to get him in more trouble. And he was in enough trouble as it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, Akira certainly hasn't taken a very sensible approach to preventing the Phantom Thieves from finding a new target, but hey—at least he didn't get messed up in Shido's Palace this time! Also more family bonding time: he should probably make the most of it before the PTs get to Kaneshiro, 'cause once they do...it's certainly gonna get interesting.


	15. Chaos

**Thursday 30th June**

Time crept and crawled past in inches. Akira tried not to get consumed by the pursuit of Palace after Palace, but it was hard, and he could sense... _it_ creeping at the edges of his mind again. And that never meant anything good.

He needed to be ready for tomorrow; for the fourth letter. After that there would only be one left before he finally had the ammunition to go after Shido himself. Then Wakaba would be free, and that stupid ship would stop haunting his nightmares. 

But that wasn’t his only worry. 

Much to his annoyance, he’d found himself pondering a lot on that brief interaction he’d had with Ann and Ryuji in Akihabara. At first he’d thought it might have been a scheme on their part to get his number so they could bother him, but since then they’d sent no text but brief introductions, and that seemed to be that. Akira couldn’t work them out—couldn’t work the _group_ out. They all seemed to be just...normal teenagers. 

_Real_ normal teenagers, not fakes like him that secretly went about collapsing and brainwashing people he thought should know better. They appeared to have no grand plan, no overarching scheme for their activities, other than seeking out new Palaces, and even that they seemed to do without much idea of the effect it was going to produce on the general populace. Or at least, Akira hoped they didn’t understand what they were doing. Ignorance would be easier to bear than malice, after all. 

Did they understand that they threatened the entire social fabric of their world if they kept up this nonsense? Did they understand they might expose the Metaverse to the world at large—and who knew what havoc that might wreak if others came to try and manipulate it? Did they know? 

They didn’t seem to; not even Akechi, the most likely person to understand the danger they were posing to the world, seemed to have a greater, more malicious goal in mind. 

They were just...kids. Normal kids, probably trying to get back at people they thought had wronged them, or others—after all, that was what Akira had done. Or started out doing, anyway. He wasn’t sure how he’d describe his vast network of operations now, but it had certainly reached past the point of childish whim. And these children—these ‘Phantom Thieves' were trying to do the same: to help the world, in their own way. Shame they didn’t realise just how dire the consequences of doing that might be. 

He sighed, adjusting the jacket tied around his waist. Even this late in the day, June was still unbearably hot and sticky. He wanted nothing more than to just go home and take a bath, but he knew full well he needed to stock up on basic medical supplies before tomorrow, and if he went home now he’d end up too tired to leave again. 

So he stepped off the station for Shibuya still feeling hot, sticky and miserable, which was why it took him a while to notice there seemed to be something else going on outside beyond shoppers going about their daily business. There were whispers: ominous murmurings about something, people talking in deliberately hushed, quiet voices. He glanced around, trying to determine what was the cause of the hubbub.

That’s when he saw it.

The poster.

Several posters, as a matter of fact, but his gaze quickly honed in on the one closest to him, unable to quite process what he was seeing. 

“It’s _their_ logo!” said someone nearby.

“Did the Phantom Thieves really come here?”

A bright red poster with the ominous words ‘steal your heart’ written on them burnt itself onto Akira’s eyes. And the posters were everywhere; plastered over the walls, the streetlamps, the doors—everywhere in Shibuya seemed to be covered with posters. Posters... But not just posters. Calling cards.

Calling cards all over Shibuya; calling out someone very specific: Junya Kaneshiro. The name rang some distant bell in Akira’s mind, but not strong enough for him to fully remember what was lurking just under the surface. 

So, it had happened again. He’d failed to stop them acquiring another target, failed to stop them from plastering their stupid, attention-seeking calling cards all over Tokyo, and failed to stop the next step in an ever-worsening spiral that would eventually set the creature free. The world was falling slowly to pieces and all he could seem to do was wait and watch as all semblance of control slipped between his fingers. Was this really all he could do without exposing himself? Watch as they carelessly tore apart the future he’d been working so hard for? No—he couldn’t—he _wouldn’t_ —

“Hah! Oh, this has really made my day!” 

Akira turned slowly as a familiar voice hit his ears. It couldn’t be...

“Ohya?” he said, staring at her as she began snapping photos of the scene frantically.

“Oh!” she cried, wheeling around to face him. “Kurusu, I hadn’t spotted you there—how’s it going kiddo? Can’t stop to chat for long, as you might imagine, I have _quite_ the story on my hands!” 

And all at once, the chaos buzzing around his head came to a grinding halt, and a plan resolved itself instantaneously in his mind. 

Okay. 

If this was how they were going to play it, then it was time for some fucking damage control. 

“Hey, Ohya, don’t you think this is all a bit weird?” 

“Weird?” she asked, peering at him. “In what way? They’ve sent calling cards to two other people y’know. Uh—” her face contorted in panic for a moment, “but you didn’t hear that from me, okay?”

“I know that,” said Akira, sliding into the role of casual informant as easily as putting on a hat. “It just seems different to everything else that’s been happening, you know? No one else who’s had a breakdown’s ever had any of these calling cards sent to them, have they?” 

“Huh,” said Ohya, slowly lowering her camera. “You have a point there, but for the record, I don’t think these so-called ‘Phantom Thieves’ are actually _doing_ anything to the people they’re targeting. I know some of my stupider colleagues think they’re actually brainwashing these people, but considering they’re probably just high-schoolers that’s pretty far-fetched, y’know? I mean, we’ve already run plenty of articles on this disease-thing—it seems more likely to me that they’re just plastering these things up in the hopes of causing the targets to have a mental breakdown—and it seems to be working. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still probably illegal, but it’s not like...supernatural or something.”

Thank goodness.

“You make a good point about that!” he said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead, I just thought it was strange these ‘Phantom Thieves’ were taking credit for the disease.”

“Yeah,” said Ohya, “I can see how they’d want to though—I mean, it’s not too hard to predict who might get it—you can basically do that, can’t you? Not too surprising someone else has figured it out and is trying to use it to get clout. That said, I wish they’d just come to me instead. I don’t think these kids know the trouble they’re setting themselves up for by targeting people like this.”

If only she knew the true extent of the danger...

“It could turn pretty nasty.”

Ohya nodded seriously in agreement. “They could get arrested, if they aren’t careful. People have been known to die of this thing, y’know? If they target someone who later dies from it...they could be accused of indirectly killing them. And believe me, if this story keeps blowing up, the police aren’t gonna tolerate it for long. The disease itself was making them look like fools, but with people taking credit for it, they’re gonna want to squash that ASAP.” 

“Think the government’s gonna start freaking out about it too?”

Ohya pursed her lips. “If they go after someone actually _in_ the government? Yeah. They’d have to be pretty stupid to do that though.” 

“Let’s hope they’re not stupid.”

“Let’s hope,” sighed Ohya. “Nice catching up with you, Kurusu, but for now I’ve gotta fly before someone else writes up an article!”

“See you, Ohya!” Akira called after her as she began sprinting away. 

Well, that was step one of damage control—with Ohya pushing that narrative, the media would have less space to come up with wacky stories. But. She was right about the danger. Even if the media did end up attributing the deaths to the ‘disease’ then the Phantom Thieves could still risk prosecution if they targeted the wrong person. Akechi might be able to steer them away from that—he was a detective, after all, so he should really know better than to try and go after someone too powerful—but that he’d been willing to start this at all—and let his group put up such ostentatious posters, no less—it didn’t bode well. He definitely struck Akira as a fame-hunter, between his appearances on TV and his willingness to let the rumours about the Phantom Thieves spread. And someone like that could prove very dangerous indeed.

But by far the most dangerous thing about this already dangerous debacle was that the Phantom Thieves would surely attract the attention of the government if they kept going like this. It would only take the public latching onto the idea that they really were causing all the breakdowns for things to get extremely nasty, and once they were onto that idea, _if_ they were onto that idea...Shido would realise. After all, Shido already knew about the Metaverse. It was very likely some of his cronies in government knew about the Metaverse. And if he suspected Wakaba had betrayed him, that other people knew, that other people might target _him..._

He _needed_ to destroy that man. 

And he needed to do it quickly. 

* * *

**Friday 1st July**

The Shadows seemed to sense that something was wrong. Where before if they’d seen him, they would usually try to attack him, now…they hesitated. Staring, their ghostly eyes flickering, trying to determine whether or not they really should attack him, even with the very architecture of Shido’s Palace on their side. Almost all of them made the right decision: not to. 

Akira went into Shido’s Palace that day with his hood up. Usually he kept it down—when he’d first manifested his Persona he’d wanted to intimidate Shadows, nowadays it was usually more his MO to charm them. But not today. Today he wanted the full effect of his Metaverse outfit. Titania had once cattily told him it made him look like the Grim Reaper, and well…that was just as well. 

Because today there was going to be carnage.

Gliding up the floors of Shido’s Palace, he already had an idea of where the IT President might be. The man was a recluse: never came out of his room, not even for meals. In real life he was a bit of a shut-in too, though naturally he was still obliged to attend board meetings and the like. Seemed Shido had picked up on his underling’s paranoia. For all his arrogance, Shido was good at reading people...all the more reason he needed to be taken out quickly. 

It wasn’t long before Akira found himself in front of the door to the room the President had hidden himself in. Not for much longer. He gave three swift, hard knocks on the door. 

“Who is that?” barked a voice from within. “You’ve got a key, don’t you? Let yourself in!”

Akira knocked again. 

“Fine, fine!” grumbled the voice. “But I’m going to complain to management, you know!” 

A moment later, Akira could hear the mechanism of the door being unlocked as the IT President turned the key. The door swung open, the man seeming to have a complaint already on his lips as he reached out to take the food he had assumed Akira would be offering. Then he _saw_ Akira. His face turned deathly pale. 

“W-who are you?” he gasped, stumbling back from the door, allowing Akira to step into the room fully. “What do you want from me? I haven’t done anything wrong—I did everything as Shido asked—”

Akira stalked over to him, watching as he scrabbled backwards, coming to a clumsy stop as he backed into a table, eyes wide as saucers as Akira continued to advance. He was a small man, the IT President. Much smaller than Akira. It took less than a second for Akira to shoot his arm out, grabbing him by the throat, hauling him into the air, leaving him dangling, squirming under the choking pressure of his own weight.

“Did you?” Akira asked dispassionately, watching as the man choked for breath, clawing desperately at his hands. “Interesting.”

Adjusting his weight slightly, he shifted his hand, bringing the man back down, letting his feet just about rest on the ground again. 

“W-what...?” the man just managed to wheeze, his eyes bulging unpleasantly as he struggled to breathe.

“You’re one of the few people on this ship blessed with a letter of introduction to that ignoble man, aren’t you?” Akira asked quietly.

The IT President nodded, still staring at him, eyes unable to leave his mask. 

“Give one to me.”

The man’s eyes bulged even more. “B-but—”

“It wasn’t a request,” said Akira, bringing the man’s face closer to his own cold, blank mask. “Your hands are both free, aren’t they? Give me the letter. And don’t bother trying to escape. I could snap your neck in half a second.” 

The man gurgled slightly, but obediently withdrew one hand from where he was clutching at Akira’s hand and reached into his pocket. Slowly, almost deliberately slowly, he pulled a crumpled letter from within and extended it towards Akira. 

Akira plucked it from his shaking fingers with his free hand, then shook it out and gave it a quick scan. Legitimate. Alright. He went to go and place the letter in his pocket, but as he did so, he noticed the man reaching for his pocket again. What, did he have a knife or something? 

“What did I tell you?” Akira thundered, squeezing the man’s neck as hard as he could, fully intending to cause some permanent damage, but the man’s hand was already inside his pocket, and then—

Then...

Then everything went white.

He couldn’t have said how long things were like that. He seemed to be staring at the brightest light he’d ever seen—a familiar light, now he thought about it. And his body...it hurt so much...so much like...

He was lying on the pavement, cold, wet stone beneath his fingers. God, it was so cold. And it hurt...

“Akira!” 

But wait—no he wasn’t...he was on a ship, wasn’t he? Had he fallen in the sea? Was he drowning?

“Akira... Can you...”

Pavement again. He reached towards his chest, remembering the feeling, the agonising pain as the monster had driven its claws deep into his chest, between his ribs, reaching for his heart...

“Akira... Please...”

Warm blood had splattered out—he felt like he was dying—so much blood, wet between his fingers, spraying out of his chest with every mangled heartbeat. He _was_ dying. There was no way he could live. The warmth faded to cold, the looming darkness to a strange white light, and then—

“Akira, I swear to God, answer me!”

Then he was alive.

He sprang upright, every muscle in his body burning in protest as he finally became aware of where he was. 

He was still in Shido’s ship. Still in the IT President’s room. Well. What was left of it, anyway.

There was a massive hole in the side of the ship where the wall had been, and half the room seemed to be on fire, flames already licking at the floorboards and the mangled remains of the curtains. Great. That asshole had triggered off a bomb. And that slightly charred-looking corpse slowly melting into blackened goo was probably all that remained of him. Akira took a cursory glance down at his own body. That jackass seemed to have caught most of the blast for him, but even Akira could tell this was going to be nasty. His primary concern was the fact a jagged piece of wood was stuck in his lower abdomen. It wasn’t bleeding too much. Yet. 

“Wakaba?” he half-asked, half-coughed, hoping his bracers hadn’t been too badly damaged by the blast. 

“Akira?” she half-yelled back. “What happened? Can you get out? Are you injured?”

“Injured,” he confirmed, now noticing that his arm looked pretty badly burnt too. Not to mention he felt awfully dizzy...his head was wet. Probably about to get a concussion too. Fuck. “I can get out but I probably can’t get back to you. Can you come and pick me up from the park near the Diet Building?”

“I—yes—I’ll be there as soon as possible.” 

“See you there,” Akira coughed back.

Great. Now he just needed to _get_ to the park near the Diet Building. 

If you’d have asked him after the fact how he got to that park he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. All he could remember was walking—seeming to walk forever, and eventually finding his way over to a tree to collapse under.

From there there were only flashes; of Wakaba’s face, masked doctors staring down at him, surgical lights...

And then, after what seemed to be an eternity, consciousness found him fully once more. 

He was in a hospital bed. The lights were out. Sojiro was unconscious in the chair next to him...he’d probably taken over from Wakaba at some point. Stubborn old bastard. 

He gingerly tried to raise himself up a little, get a better measure of what had happened. He felt oddly numb...probably something to do with the IV trailing away from his arm. He glanced away. He had a sore dislike of IVs. 

His body felt stiff and unreal, like he was stuck all over with plasters, keeping him from feeling his skin properly. An answer as to why that may be came with a glance at his arms, all covered up with bandages. Clearly he’d been more seriously burnt in the blast than he’d thought. His throat felt oddly dry and his head...ugh, his head ached like he’d cracked his skull open. Maybe he had. It would explain why he could feel it even through the painkillers. 

“Hey,” came a low voice next to him. “You awake?”

Sojiro had woken up. Akira tried to tilt his head to look at him, but it was slow, painful going. 

“Just about,” he rasped, and he found his voice was dry and hoarse. Didn’t they have any water around here?

Sojiro seemed to sense what he was thinking because he quickly sat up and glanced around. “Oh, ah, they said you should drink some water once you wake up. Here.”

He retrieved a glass off the bedside table and held it out to him. Akira gingerly raised his arms to take it from him, aware that moving his muscles felt strange and disjointed. Still, he managed to tentatively grasp the cup and raise it to his lips, taking a long sip. It tasted disgusting. Probably the pain meds. 

“You sure do manage to find trouble, don’t you?” said Sojiro, wearily as Akira passed the cup back to him. “Fancy getting caught in a gas explosion. Ah, well I suppose it could happen to anyone. I’m just glad you’re still alive.”

Gas explosion? Had there been a gas explosion in the area that day? If that was the case then he was incredibly lucky...in a certain sense—getting caught in the blast radius of that stupid bomb in the first place definitely hadn’t been lucky. 

“Did anyone die?” he asked, genuinely a little curious.

Sojiro sighed deeply. “Yeah, five people. You’re lucky you were only just in the blast radius. Some of the other people in here have some really nasty injuries, but the doctors were saying you should be able to leave in a couple of days. Going to be a tough time taking care of those injuries though.” He nodded at Akira’s arms, and, now he remembered in bits in pieces what had happened to him, he imagined his lower torso had probably been bandaged up too. “Doc says you shouldn’t go back into school until Friday at the earliest, so I guess it’s bed rest for you for a while.” 

Ugh, bed rest? Easily his least favourite thing. Still, he should probably be thankful he wasn’t dead, so he shouldn’t complain too much.

“How long was I out?” he asked, acutely aware he might have been in hospital for some time already.

“A few hours?” said Sojiro, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the time. “Oh, or maybe a bit longer than that. It’s two in the morning.”

“Ugh,” sighed Akira, leaning further back in his pillows. 

“They’ll probably try and get you out of bed tomorrow, so be ready for that,” Sojiro warned him. “And Futaba and Wakaba will be visiting, obviously.”

“When did you take over from Wakaba?” asked Akira.

“About ten o’clock this evening,” yawned Sojiro. “She needed to get some rest back home. She was worried sick about you since the moment they picked you up in the ambulance, y’know. Didn’t bring you out of the theatre until eight though, so I can’t really blame her.”

“Yeah,” said Akira, quietly. 

He hoped she wasn’t thinking twice about letting him finish off Shido’s Palace... He hadn’t gone through all this only to quit when he was so close, after all. 

Sojiro yawned again, and shifted in his chair. “Try and get some sleep while you still can. You don’t want to mess up your sleep schedule on top of everything else, do you?” 

“No,” said Akira, lying back fully. “Good night, Sojiro.”

“Good night, kid.”

As Akira lay back and let the darkness wash over him, however, he couldn’t stop his mind from teaming with thoughts. What was Wakaba thinking right now? Would she let him go back in and face Shido after all this? Would he even be _capable_ of facing Shido again after this? He longed to sink into the Metaverse, where all pain became dulled and distant, and even these terrible injuries would probably subside, just a little—but he couldn’t. For now he was trapped in reality, enslaved to the real world, where pain was _pain_ , and his body wouldn’t so easily recover from the trials he’d inflicted upon it. 

And the Phantom Thieves...was it wise to leave them unattended for so long? The breakdown they’d set in motion hadn’t happened yet, but it would soon, and then they’d be looking for another target... 

Ugh, what a mess this all was.

_Sleep,_ whispered a hoarse voice from somewhere deep within his chest. _We should rest for now._

Clawed hands seemed to curl over his own, ghostly fingers holding him tight. Reminding him he wasn’t quite alone. 

He closed his eyes, and slowly, gradually, sleep dragged him down into the depths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof—it was bound to happen eventually, but Akira's really been seriously knocked by Shido's Palace this time! Hopefully nothing permanent, but ending up in hospital is difficult to shrug off, even if you're Akira. And of course him being in hospital isn't exactly going to slow the Phantom Thieves down either. It's going to be an interesting ride!


End file.
